Gone Sideways
by Elizabeth Cicero
Summary: Sequel to Villa Incognito...Mort and Roxanne Rainey are living a relatively normal life in the woods of North Carolina with their twins, when a full family Christmas turns into another unexpected turn of threatening events. But where will they run to now?
1. Prologue: God Made Woman

**Extended Prologue: Why God Made Woman**

* * *

I don't have a single clue how she does it.

Like clockwork, uninterrupted, uninhibited, she hits the alarm midway through its first second of ringing. She slides out of the bed like it's a cloud or something barely there at all, and tiptoes into the bathroom. She always makes sure the door is shut with nothing more than a crack before she flips the light on and she never runs the water in the sink or shower longer or louder than need be.

When she steps out again, she'll be wrapped in a loose towel, hair dark and dripping across her slender back. She floats through the room, quietly opening drawers or going through her closet, it is the bigger one of course. Sometimes she'll use the bed as leverage to get dressed, while other mornings she'll opt stand in front of the French doors that lead to our deck, the late dawn light tracing the outline of her still perfect figure as she lets her clothes fall against her skin like they are nothing more than paper.

Those are my favorite mornings.

She finishes off with a few twists of her unruly hair into some sort of style for the day, usually something that can be undone and consistently and easily fixed from then on out. She grabs a purse of the dozens she has scattered, a sweater when it's cold and only a jacket when it's not. The shoes she wants, somehow always end up underneath the bed, one on her side and one on mine. She makes it around the huge mattress to spread out beneath my side, her hands sliding against the hard wood floor in that same way so I can hear the scratch her wedding ring makes over the cracks, and this makes me smile dreamily as I wake up fully. The second her head darts up, the same way most often, I catch her gaze dead on and hold her there for thirty seconds. Those are the first thirty seconds of my day, every day, and she's just mine.

Some days she laughs, sometimes she'll smile or roll her eyes, but this morning, she stands and takes a seat beside me, brushing back my mess of hair in that motherly way she's mastered. It certainly doesn't turn me _off _though. Nothing she has ever done has turned me _off_. In fact, I could go at any second she asked, between the cashmere sweaters and shoe hunts, I'd show her how fascinating she still is to me.

"Sorry I woke you up."

I'm not, and prove it by moving my hand to take a firm hold of her ass where it rests nearby, as I lay on my stomach, face shoved into the pillow. She giggles that way that tells me everything she's thinking and wishing and wanting. She giggles the IOU giggle I love in the mornings.

"You are seriously…" I begin groggily with a taunting smirk. "…one hot mama."

"Oh, is that so?" She whispers as she stands up again, sliding into her worn converse.

"Mmm…" is about all I can think to get out.

She shakes her head at me, and then turns to leave, but not before she returns the favor by smacking my ass through the sheets and sexily drawling out in a murmur from the far doorway, "You better be naked still when I get back…"

And with that final request, of which I shall gallantly fill, she's off to play superwoman.

She'll spend approximately 28 minutes helping the twins get dressed, and then somewhere between 15 and 18 minutes making lunches while she stands in that funny ostrich position at the counter, licking jelly and peanut butter off the knife, and humming to the classic rock station that is always pre-set in the kitchen. She'll move on to make sure Max hasn't dozed off on the couch again, and that Maddie has finally, after constant deliberation, picked out which shoes she wants for the day. She is her mother's daughter all over, a real ball buster, and it scares the living hell out of me.

Once she has them at the door to leave, she'll spend about 9 minutes wrapping them up in scarves and hats if need be, or making sure their shoelaces and buckles are fastened. And only, when all of this done, the lunches are in her hand, the keys dangling from her teeth and her glasses forgotten at least three times on the top of her head, she'll open the door and leave the house in silence.

I hate this silence.

It covers me when she's gone, when the kids are gone, and when I can hear things like a leaky bathroom faucet, or the iced over pipes along the side of the house, or a distant car travelling upon gravel and dirt. Being able to accept that there are other noises in the world besides Disney sing-a-longs, and tiny feet pattering through open hallways, or the sound of my wife's mental Aerosmith catalog, is a tough thing for me to do and I've never really been able to relax into it much. I need the noise, the chaos, the stuff that comes with getting old and boring and selfless.

Some of it will come back in an hour or so, after she's made the daily run to the preschool, and beat the mountain morning traffic she claims to love. She'll come back to me, more likely than not at the brink of starvation, so I'll cook her breakfast (naked this morning), and we'll make a whole bundle of new noises to outweigh the eerie silence of the place.

Roxanne is the reason God made these spectacular, long legged creatures in the first place. This done, so that they could be hazardous, and violent and a torture to anyone unsuspecting one minute, and then turn around and touch you just the right way, or kiss you so soft you could swear it went right through you, or love you perfectly, because they want to and are unwilling to be satisfied with any other activity for the day. He must have been damn proud with her, and I could almost bet he stood back, smiled, shed a few tears, and then sent her running along to do her damage.

I'll nap on this thought a while longer, waiting patiently by for the danger to fine me again.

* * *

It's always the worst part of my day, leaving my babies standing there, looking up at me near the doorway of the preschool. I hate walking away from them, turning my back in such a forward routine, just expecting them to accept it as normal. I wish I could keep them with me all day long, and watch movies and play outside in the snow and take long naps with them. But I know this way is better for them, they need the interaction with the other kids, and need not be spoiled by two parents who have such lazy jobs.

They smiled when I walked out, like every other morning, but it doesn't make it any easier driving home. I swerve through the mountain roads at high speed, focused on singing at the top of my lungs to drown out the agony of missing them so much. I think of my husband instead, that man that came out of nowhere with a dog and a wandering eye, and changed my whole world forever. I think about him, naked beneath a wave of needlessly wrinkled sheets, waiting for me to sneak back in and wake him up properly.

Yeah, that's not such a bad thought.

It's so shameless, to be able to say that I'm even more attracted to the man I married than I was when I first met him, or first slept with him. My girlfriends in town think I'm out of my mind, to be so in love with my life, and my hectic days, and the man who calms everything down for me when I need him to. They think I should despise him for forgetting to put the lid back on the milk or sleeping until noon when he wants to. They think I should be as unhappy as they are for some reason and I'm simply not.

Sure, I'll be the first to admit that there are moments when I want to kick him out in the cold for being his sporadically annoying self, and there's times when I feel like everything I do is for nothing and no one. I lose my mind trying to be a chauffeur and cook and personal stylist and lover twenty four hours a day, almost always seven days a week unless they all decide to sleep in on the weekends. No, it's not easy. It wasn't something I volunteered for when it all started, I didn't accept the draft of motherhood like some badge of honor or great celebration of myself. It all just sort of fell into what it is, with the right person and the wrong place and time, and eventually all the elements that make it as messy, and goofy, and barely tolerable and rewarding as it is.

Yes, I love my husband because he's my best friend first. He took care of me when no one else would listen. I do it because I need to. Not because I have to or something stupid like that.

Yeah, I want to drive home and put off the next ten pages of my manuscript so I can crawl into bed with him again, to make him feel wanted and needed and loved the same way he does me.

And yeah, I have thought seriously about suggesting an addition to our chaotic brood. I still am.

Max and Madeline are almost five, and that makes me sad, knowing they are growing up too quick, far quicker than I ever wanted them to. I miss the look Mort used to get on his face when he had to change a dirty diaper or when he was the one to get puked on after I had made it through hours of feeding and holding unscathed. I miss the nights that we would flip a coin to see who had to answer the call of the screaming monitor, only to both end up on the floor of the nursery together, singing and cooing ourselves into our own sleep. I really miss that stuff, because it was the most fun we'd ever had together.

I'm walking up the driveway, to the wraparound porch of our castle on the mountain's edge, and I can breathe here, unlike New York or Tashmore. I can see a thousand miles in any direction, snow on the peaks wherever I face, and I wonder for a split second as I always tend to, if this was how it was supposed to even happen, or if there is still more to it, something I'm missing.

I turn the key to the house and think about the hell we went through just to get here. I don't particularly think I could last through anything like that again. I just don't know if I would handle it as well under our newfound circumstances.

I step inside, take off my coat, my scarf and hat, boots, and even find my glasses wound into my messy bun where I thought I'd left them at home. I can hear the soft drip of a coffee pot and the sizzle of a frying pan from down the long hallway, where the music still plays low but different.

As I make it to the archway separating the great room from the wide, sunny kitchen of my dream design, I see him standing there at the center island stovetop, stirring something in a pan, a towel alone keeping his justice in check and one of my hair ties now claimed as his own. I must say this for my husband; he listens to directions almost as well as our four and a half year olds do.

He looks up with those sinking dusk eyes and smirks.

"I think you forgot a few articles there, babe."

I twist my brow, but know exactly what he's talking about.

"No, I'm giving you a challenge today."

He laughs and scoops eggs onto two plates at the bar.

"Just can't give the home team a single break can ya?"

Moving across the open kitchen, I lean on the counter across from him as I take a seat, looking through a vase of flowers.

"That's no fun."

He grins lopsided and hands over a plate.

"Energize."

It wasn't exactly a statement or question, and I looked at him teasingly as he dug into his own food from the other side.

"Is that a warning or a threat, Mr. Rainey?"

With a mouth full of food he rolled his eyes and gulped it all down.

"It _was_ a suggestion…but I guess you're too damn sure of yourself."

He was right about that.

"I'm positively sure about myself." I took a stab at the eggs and then quietly added. "_Someone_ has to be."

A mockery of his manhood usually did it, and he knew that I knew.

"Keep teasing him and see what happens, honey."

I wanted to, and he knew this as well.

"Oh baby, don't think it's not my every intention to insult you right into a killer boner."

I reached out to grasp for the strawberry syrup in the middle of the counter, only wanting it for my pancakes and instead felt the force of his instantaneous craze as his hand wrapped over mine on the bottle. I glanced up at him through the daisies again with a tight smile, but he didn't look up. He held my hand and kept his faux intent on the crossword for a second longer, reveling in the control he'd won back.

But I had forces of my own that he underestimated daily.

I coughed to sort through his attention and then softly whispered across at him with a blow in his face, "16 down this morning…is _penetration…_"

His eyes immediately flew up to mine, locking down on my senses securely. He had me, and we both knew it, and because there were no other tactics to be used or filtered through, he was about to win out. In a flash, he ripped the glass bottle of ruby syrup from my hand and in a sweep of storming desperation he tore at my other hand, pulling me down from the chair at the bar and towards the large dining room table in the opposing section of the kitchen.

He said nothing, and I liked it better this way. It was that dangerous, silent, ruthless Mort that came out from time to time to put on a little show. Or _big _show, depending on how you measure such things.

Flying towards the table's edge, he slammed the glass down on the oak finish and pressed me hard against the rounded side as he pulled my sweater from over my head, then held tight to my waist as his hands lifted me from the bottom up to sit with his body falling between my jeans legs. He fumbled meticulously with the button and zipper as his solitary towel slid away inch by inch with every movement he made towards me. His lips and teeth dove into my bare neck, scraping flesh in ways I'd seen animals react to their prey on Discovery Channel, and it sent a thousand fluttering shudders up and right back down my spine to think of him as my predator husband.

In the middle of this fascinating sensation and its subsiding wave, I heard the loud crash of the table center piece and candles as they flew across the hard wood floor and over the opposite oak ledge from where we were. I knew he'd gotten rid of them in his passionate rage, and it made me want to feel even more of him in that second. I tangled my fingers into his hair as deep as they would go; the small green tie from earlier all but disappearing in our act as his muddled brown and golden locks fell onto my forehead and nose. I kissed his face anywhere I could manage as I felt him sliding me further across the table to the center. He grunted in this part of the act, but said nothing, and left me to wonder about what he was thinking.

Knowing just how it had to be done, from obvious practice over the years, he quickly tugged my jeans away from my legs and to the floor I had almost forgotten existed anymore. He swept back down upon me, his bare chest pressing me to lay closer to the table as he reached around to lazily unhook my bra and rip it away at the same pace, snapping one of the straps in the process.

I shook my head as I lay nearly undone beneath his high gaze.

"I hope you know your way around Victoria's Secret by now, buddy."

He hushed me with a growl as he reached behind my head to finally hold the bottle of syrup again. He spun it around in his hand for a long moment, looking down upon me, surveying every inch of my skin it seemed, as if he were laying the foundation for a house or getting ready to paint a canvas. I knew the syrup was still mildly hot from when he must have warmed it, and so I wasn't so concerned about what I had a feeling was coming.

Except for the part where I knew I would lose my damn mind.

His eyes slowly arched around each of my breasts, coming up along my neck until he focused in on mine again, defiant but gentle at a distance. That smirk wound itself around his mouth like a call to duty and finally after the most agonizing minutes of my day so far, he spoke deeply over me.

"Think we should play with some rules today?"

I stifled a laugh but returned, "Maybe."

"Okay," he began, carefully inching the bottle towards my stomach as he pulled back on the cap. He let the syrup sit at the very edge of the glass rim as he went on. "Rule number one…" he brought the bottle down closer to my already stifling skin as I watched the red sap drizzle out. It burned only slightly at first and made me jump under him as he grinned wildly and forced himself to continue. "…I will only move under your command…under your directions."

"Done being power hungry for the day, have you?" I mused as I watched his fingers move in circles through the streaming syrup on my stomach and chest. The hardened strain of his towel as it ran along the inside of my right thigh was what made it really bad to hold back.

"Oh no…I still get the power, but it's all under the order of these."

His sweetened left thumb brushed over my lips, drawing down the bottom one harder as he pulled it away again and held my leg. I needed him now and he was drawing the thing out on purpose, doing the one thing he knew I despised enough to throw him out in the cold, the thing that my girlfriends swore was the reason I should ignore him like they did their husbands. He was being greedy, like he only ever was when he was under the spell of the ravishing, predatorily charged Mort. And I just couldn't decide what was worse, the feeling of helplessness as he spun his web of strawberry sauce and suggestive words over top of me, or not having the experiences at all.

I opted for the sex and focused back on him.

"Rule number two…I'm granting you three chances to scream my name…" he caressed at the insides of my thighs as his fingers wove down to meet the thin lace of my thong. "…as _loudly_ as you can…" the black material slid along my legs until it eased right off of my bare toes. "...and if you fail the third time…" he held my leg bent in his hands and kissed slowly from my toes to the back of my knee.

"W-what?" I asked in a clear shudder.

He glanced over my knee as my eyelids fluttered in both fear and anxiousness.

"I'm going back to finish my pancakes."

I rolled my eyes, knowing he'd never be able to do such a thing, to me and especially not himself. But I did accept the challenge, for the mere fact that it would be impossible to lose. As if he thinks I don't know him or something…

In a sudden sweep, I watched at a crooked angle on the table as he let the towel fall away from his waist completely, exposing what I'd already felt for minutes in painful passing against my thigh. He was swollen, no doubt as ever before; larger than he had been the last few nights past, and this both excited and weakened my head. He taunted me with his wiry smile as he stood completely still, awaiting command and a fair route to his destination. The syrup was everywhere already, and only moved further along as his hands slid from my waist to knees, the sticky pink sauce painting my skin taut.

"Come here." I whispered seductively as he lowered his head.

His reply was simple, just as it ought to be for a man in dire need of directions. "Where?"

"Come down here and kiss me, stupid."

He laughed and slide deeper between my legs and across my stomach, the syrup gluing us together, his palms firm against the table beside my head as he moved down to my mouth, blowing gently. His tongue came out to lick straight across my lips where he'd left sauce in his prior advances, and almost as soon as I moved my hands to clench the smooth, warm skin under his shoulder blades, he forced his tongue through the gates and filled my mouth. I held onto him tighter as he slid his tongue back away and to almost the tip, before driving back towards my throat, again and again suggestively, so that when he did pull away, I wanted to shoot him.

I said nothing and look up at his perfectly content, smiling face with a scowl.

"Jesus…now I know where Maddie gets that mean pout from."

I wasn't laughing, but I knew I was close enough that I had to just speak. So instead, I commanded.

"Why don't you cut the shit…" he chuckled and then was caught obviously off guard when I grabbed his nearby hand on my waist and moved it up to my breast, forcing it down hard "…touch me instead."

He seemed to like that and instantly began massaging my breast with one hand, as his mouth swept down to the second, striking at every possible nerve ending allowable at the hardened peaks I'd already known were showing. While one nipple was pinched with his sticky thumb and forefinger, the other had an opposing jolt with his tongue flicking over it a mile a minute. I felt my back slightly arch off the table, but only enough to feel him still settled at the center of my legs, straining quietly.

He groaned against my breast and then switched positions to give equal treatment to the other one. I couldn't stop watching him, although I'd seen this spectacle thousands of times before, it always felt new, enticing, like that very first time he ever touched me. I cried out at the thought, as he brought my second breast to harden completely within the heated cavern of his mouth, lapping at it wetly before pulling away all over again and looking down upon me. He was showing his drain, his need even more now.

The giving directions bit of his rules wasn't working as well as I had planned for it to, since I could hardly even begin to think or breathe. So instead, I took his hand back in mine and slide it down across the saccharine sweetness of my strawberry painted skin, until I felt his fingertips brushing through the short, dark hairs that began the world at times. I gasped a little to feel him finally, and he bit his lip, like he did so often when he had finally made it, and he continued to let me guide him to the central heat, the moist pleating of my body.

"Talk to me Roxanne…" He whispered soundly, as his voice echoed through my brain. "…I want you to tell me _everything_…tell me what you want."

I tried, taking a deep breath, and still could hardly form words. It wasn't like me to be so out of it, especially in circumstances like these, and I think he took notice of this. Mort caught my eye quietly and came to lay over me again, softly, not as urgent as he had been. His hand was still lost somewhere below, stroking lightly, but not forcing anything yet, while his other brushed back on my hair and forehead.

"Hey, look at me." I tilted my head back toward where his lips and breath were hot. He smiled when he I looked at him wholly. "Hey..."

I glanced straight up at him as he placed a single kiss on my chin, his coiling fingertips moving between the wet folds of my ready and waiting core.

"Finally gone mute on me, huh? Five years of sex causes deafness?"

I nodded in his hand and laughed when he did, trying to focus on one thing, his eyes or the circling sensation of his fingers below. I couldn't decide for the life of me.

"Rule number one really sucks, you know that?" I exhausted when he nodded with a wide grin.

"I was hoping you'd point out as much."

I crossed my brow as he brushed it gently, and wiggled a finger tightly up into me at the same moment. I gasped and held onto his elusive arms around me, not expecting it so soon, or so rough. And this was followed by the ragged discretion of his voice in my ear.

"Which is why I'll be taking over from here, babe."

And he did, thank God for that. I was in no position to be directing the traffic of his desires as they poured over my body today. I only wanted to be taken to the height I knew he had to offer at any moment, the one I'd seen in his eyes when I had driven him to this point. They shone with a haze of rich honey in the middle of the blackened orbs when he was as intense as he was now, when he wanted to cover me in spreadable condiments and lick from head to toe.

His finger swept through me and around me over and over again, while in my head I counted the strokes and the number of times I had dug into and released the skin on the backs of his upper arms. Every time I drove my nails into him though, his own finger grew rougher in movement, and eventually, he drew a second in to scissor back and forth against the current I'd held onto so strongly. My head rolled on the table, my jaw near to breaking from the tension I'd built up in clenching onto it, and my legs grew numb and sedated at his hips.

A few more pumps inside and out, the sensation of his tongue as it crawled along my berried stomach and waist, and I felt the shuddering begin at my lower back and extend through all of my veins until I heard his soft murmur across me, "Now honey…let it go…" I did, in waves, one after the other so swiftly that it both burned and cooled my skin. "…come hard again…" he sighed still, as I felt him move his fingers in half circles a few more times within me, letting me feel the full effect he could offer as I cried out into my shoulder. The last thing I heard as I crashed was his own tiny whimper at whatever he was viewing and that made me fall twice as hard, utterly breathless.

When I rose back from what felt like the dead, I looked up into his high, rash eyes again and smiled.

"I always liked you in control better."

This brought a proud grin to his face as I watched him slide me down the table further and closer to his body, his own heat and final need.

"That's good, 'cause I don't think you could handle directing this one."

I laughed when he nodded downwards and gripped my loosened thighs at his sides, moving in deep to me again, brushing his head across my still aching bud. I needed more of him, it wasn't half over yet, and I knew he needed me especially which I felt guilty about.

"Screaming regulations remain in effect."

I accepted with a twinkle in my eye as I felt him circle into me rather than plunging directly, he knew I appreciated the feeling better. I relaxed back onto the table, letting him fill me slowly, deeply, and as completely as he ever had. My knees tightened into his hips and ribs, trying to force him into me, but knowing that there was eventually nowhere left for him to go but back up and out. And he did so quickly, drawing back to the very tip, before groaning out and swerving back inside of me as I screamed out his name anxiously.

He managed to hold up one finger, which I saw out of sparkling eyelids, and chuckled as he drew back out for another go. The sweat between our bodies began to mix with the syrup until it was all I could smell, and to which I never paid much attention to the burn of Mort as he thrust back close again, slamming my body into the pile of rubble behind me on the table. I moaned, but didn't scream, and he shook his head in an effort to bring me back to that place again.

He did so even faster, this time sending a shockwave throughout my entire system as he pressed down into the magical corners of my body, sensitizing everything all at once into a bright spark of light.

"Mort!"

He seemed to like that one better and laughed out with a moan of his own as he held my waist tight, sensing the need, the urge to finish me off quick, hard, and even faster than he already had been going. He suddenly and without warning sped up to a pace that sent my back into overdrive against the smooth oak of the table top, as I heard his body both smack into mine with each thrust and his upper thighs hitting the edge of the table itself. I bit my tongue, my lip, trying not to waste the chance I knew I had to make him happy. I felt him growing tighter inside of me, filling me even more than before as he cringed with the speed he'd made so easily, and that's when I felt the all too familiar blankness and sensation covering me.

I gripped tightly to his shoulders in anticipation, as he held my hips until he couldn't get any closer while he drifted back out tenderly, purposefully slow and agonizing as I trembled. And then, in that flash I knew would come, he struck my body as hard as ever, touching that blinking spot within my farthest boundaries, the one that released the blood curdling, glass cracking screech that echoed through the high ceilings of our house, from the kitchen, to the foyer, the living room, upstairs, and anywhere else until it could go no farther than the windows and doors.

"…Ahhh…MORT!"

He belted out in laughter as I clenched down around him and forced him to spill every bit of himself inside of me, finally, almost begrudgingly. His breath was ragged, but his intoxication with amusement was going strong, the adrenaline pumping in his veins obviously concocting a dazed euphoria as he fell over me on the table, breathing and chuckling loosely in my ear.

I felt him kiss my neck and jaw as he cradled my head, and then as determined as ever, as proud as I think I'd heard him sound in a long time, he said very clearly, "You win, Ali."

* * *

See, the difference between men and women is this very simply: Men like to provide conviction in things they know nothing about and be most demanding of their wrongness at the brink of complete disaster. While women, wait around with the right answer the entire time, hovering closely behind us with a cute little smirk, withholding the truth that can save our dumbasses at every wrong turn.

They just like to watch us blow the world up for entertainment. Then they tell us the secret.

It's incredible to me, what being married a second time has done for me. It's made me this whole other force, I can do anything, or be anything I want because I am assured that this second time, based on the woman I'm married to, and based on the beautiful faces of my boy and girl, I know that I can't fall. I can only discover more in the realm I'm so contently nestled in right now.

She's healed every last bit of me, because I don't have to be who I was anymore. I can just be who I am, that guy deep down there, the one you can't see. I'm allowed to be him, openly, widely, all over the place, at any time, day or night, rain or shine; I get to be him, for her.

_Why did God make woman?_

So she could look damn good covered in strawberry syrup on a dining room table in the middle of the day.

_Why did God keep woman?_

Because she already had all of the answers it took the man to get with that strawberry sauce and table.

_Do I even particularly believe in God?_

Ha. Today I do.


	2. Deck the Halls

**Chapter 1: Deck the Halls

* * *

**

"8 days, mommy! 8 days left!"

I fell back from the fridge with a hand over my heart, catching the breath Maddie had taken away and then looked from behind the door to see her standing down beside me, pulling on my pajama leg.

"We have to hurry…he's coming!"

My head was already spinning, and had been all morning, with the fine knowledge of what was right around the corner, and what we hadn't even begun to prepare for. Madeline was on the ball as always though, and as soon as I smiled to let her know I was well aware of the holiday quickly beginning to slap me in the face, she darted across the kitchen to where we had hung the kid's red and green holiday chain link, and reached as high as she could to rip off a simple red paper ring. Riley's head shot back and forth from the middle of the kitchen floor where he laid, nervously watching her run around. He had been protective of the twins since the day they arrived, same as he had been with me on the island.

I think he always understood the dangers around us.

"8 days!" She yelled again, making me jump just the same and hold my head as I leaned on the counter and watched her tumble away and through the house, still screaming out, "8 days till Santa…he's coming in 8 days, daddy!"

I love that my little girl was as enthusiastic as I used to get around this time, it makes me happy, but it also on this day, and the few that had passed already this week, made me want to crawl under a blanket and stay there until after New Year's. It wasn't that I didn't love Christmastime, because I absolutely did; I just didn't know what to quite make of it this year. I couldn't figure out how I felt lately, or at least was loathe as to figure it out.

I'm sure this had a lot to do with the fact that while Santa was planning on stopping by our completely undecorated house in eight days, the entire family was going to have to see it in just two. And when I say the entire family, please, allow me to explain myself. I mean, my parents, including my spastic, skeptical mother. I mean my sister and her workaholic, tech belt ridden accountant husband and of course my good buddies Jake and Emily, who were growing up faster than I could even keep up with. I mean also, Mort's parents and his older brother and his wife, who have visited us on and off over the last four years, and to which they always leave making me jealous that my family couldn't be as normal as his.

Everyone was flying in on Monday, which gave me today and tomorrow, to clean a five bedroom house and get it Christmas ready, same as every other year. I wasn't exactly enthralled, but I knew how to deal, because I knew I at least had Mort there to lean on.

I sat down as slowly as possible in one of the high bar chairs, dragging my coffee cup and the bottle of aspirin all the way with me. After two pills slid down with the hot caffeine, I breathed in deep and recognized the sound of demands and six pairs of feet coming to find me this time, two pairs of which pattered unlike the steady third.

"Alright Maddie, okay. Shh…"

"We have to hurry, he'll miss us!"

"No he won't."

Mort shook his head as he turned the corner into the kitchen, already dressed and showered for the day unlike me, and smiling as he let Max and Maddie follow him around with orders at a quarter of his height.

"We need cookies. Santa eats cookies!"

"Yeah, that's why he's a fatass." Mort mumbled back under his breath until I glared at him. He said a silent apology with a smirk as he grabbed the milk from the fridge.

"We have to have lights, daddy! You have to put up the lights…"

"I know that, sweetie." He shifted his gaze down to where I could see the bow in Maddie's hair over the countertop. "I'm on top of it."

"Now…now!"

I could tell she was pulling on his jeans the same way she'd done to me, just by the way his weight tipped to the side as he made his coffee. He rolled his eyes as he looked to catch me laughing.

"A little help here?"

I shook my head and kept laughing at him as he tried to walk around with her attached and Max chanting along with her. "Now…now…now!"

"Okay heathens…we'll go, let's just get your coats on!"

He drug them all the way to the front door, begging them to get their hats and scarves and boots on while he gulped at the coffee and pleaded for me to assist with his eyes alone. Eventually I swung away from the bar and came out to meet him at the door with a smile. The aspirin had kicked in just as I had hoped it would, and the pounding was finally gone.

"You going with us, Mommy?" He offered with a sarcastic grin.

"No, you guys go ahead and get a good tree, a big one."

Max cheered at this note and tugged his boots on from the floor under us.

"I'll stay here and get all the decorations out."

"You sure?"

I think he could tell there was something not particularly right about how passive I was being, but I continued to assure him and kneeled down to tie Maddie's boots and scarf the right way.

"Positive."

"Alright." He agreed a little saddened and threw on his coat and scarf too.

I stood back up to meet his level at least a little better, and grabbed his old black beanie from the pocket of his coat to tug it down over his messy hair, as usual, almost knocking his glasses off. With an equal tug at his face I kissed him solidly on the lips, just to make the point of my being fine a little more acceptable. And when he tried to take advantage of me right there at the door, with two screaming kids between us, I knew I'd done a good enough job of convincing him of my well-being.

Pulling away from me, he opened the door and released the little monsters as they tore down the snowy drive and towards the 'oh so domestic' Ford Explorer we'd bought when the Jeep finally died. I still missed that Jeep though; it held a few special places in my heart.

"I guess we'll be back in a while. Don't kill yourself getting all those boxes down from the attic, I can do it."

I nodded with a smile as he kissed my forehead and turned out of the door.

"Later, sweet thing."

His eyes darted back to me a few times with that prized smirk as he walked away, and I watched as he got the kids fastened into the truck and drove off down the mountainside again. Eventually, I fell inside and against the door with the relief at my final solidarity. I had needed this for two reasons in particular, one of which was simply the quiet to relax my head, to think about my place in the universe, and the other, was waiting in a small box in the bathroom medicine cabinet upstairs.

* * *

I was really worried about her; I knew something was just_ off_, something just felt off. I tried not to think about it all the way to the Christmas tree farm at the Valley Square, and I tried not to think about it while I ran around with the kids through pine needles to find the perfect tree for Roxanne, and I tried not to think about it all the way back to the house too.

I knew she was tired, and stressed out over her manuscript that she told me the night before, _'just wasn't working anymore'_. And I knew that she needed to rest and still wouldn't have the chance with the family coming into town in two days. I knew just my looking at her that she wasn't herself lately. I knew all of this, and the only thing I really wanted to know, was what, if anything, I could do for her.

I'd been equally as concentrated on the last few chapters of my book over the past two weeks and I felt as bad as I always did when it came to crunch time. Roxanne was left to do most of the driving and housework and helping the kids out, while I sat with my face against the laptop screen hammering out words. And sure, the positions switched when it was her time to focus, and I didn't mind it in the least. But I saw something else in her eyes when I left that morning with the kids, and it scared me because I couldn't read it. I could always read her, like any one of her books, but now I couldn't figure it out.

I wondered if it was a bad sign and that just frustrated me even more.

I remembered a few nights back, I came into the bedroom after I'd spent nine straight hours in our office downstairs, and found her lying in the middle of the huge bed, her head hidden by a pillow and her legs curled like a child. Because the room was so quiet, I could hear every sob she made. I sat down beside her, rubbing her back and trying to get her to relax enough to talk to me, but she never moved and I never pushed it.

I guess now I wish I had.

We pulled back up the gravel drive and towards the porch, Max and Maddie were in the back seat, arguing over who was going to get to put the star on top of the tree and who was going to get to have the first Christmas cookie, but I couldn't concentrate on much else from them. It was a daze, unloading the car full of added decorations and food we'd bought, enough for the entire family through the week. The twins ran inside before I could even stop them or worry about it, and so I worked on all of the bags and even the tree by myself, glancing back to the house every so often to see if Roxanne would come out and help, but she never did.

I carried the tree inside and set it up in its stand with water, got the kids settled in the kitchen with unloading all of the groceries and setting them on the table like they always loved to do, and then decided that I was going to have to go and find her myself. I looked around from room to room, down both of the long hallways, in the each of the bathrooms and even in the laundry room, but found nothing and heard nothing. The basement door was locked so I canceled the possibility altogether and instead thought about what she had said earlier, about getting the decorations down and ready. That's when I flew toward the second flight of stairs that led to the third level loft and attic area of the house, skipping steps as I went and called out for her.

"Roxy?"

My boots hit the creaky old floor without a response and I slowly paced the loft, and didn't see her on the couch, or in her and Maddie's arts and crafts corner, but the ladder for the attic was drawn down. An eerie silence covered the room around me as I stepped toward the ladder and climbed it slowly to the darkened opening above my head, poking in with a glance to see a bunch of scattered boxes out of place, and a couple tossed aside as if they had fallen. It wasn't until I stepped higher and found firm placement inside of the attic itself, that I saw the shadowy form of a foot between the boxes and jumped towards it.

There, lying with her knees slightly drawn up and her arms spread out over her head, still in her pajamas, her hair still a mess surrounding her beautiful sea green eyes in the sunlight from the small painted glass window overhead. I smiled when she saw me and she did the same, never moving until I kneeled down between the boxes to come to her.

"Should I even bother expecting a logical reason for this one?"

Her soft laugh appeased me a little as she leaned up on her hands, my arm draped over her lap and waist, locking her under me.

"I wanted to get the decorations down."

I looked around to see the tumbled boxes, a couple smashed ornaments glittering on the wood floor.

"A huh." I turned back to her, concerned of course. She was scaring me and I couldn't think long enough or hard enough about it to even place a finger on it, so I just asked. "When are you going to tell me what's going on with you? You've been making me nervous all week."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, just tell me what's wrong; tell me what I can do."

I begged her with my eyes and drew the back of my hand across her cold cheek.

"There's nothing wrong."

On top of the frightening bit of her attitude, she was smiling and confusing me as she sat there.

"I'm fine, I'm good honey."

"You're sure…?"

"I am."

I threw my face back to look up through the window again, watching a plane or bird fly by and turn from a shade of green to red and then purple in the colorful glass. She must have suddenly grown worried for me, when I felt her freezing hand on my cheek, turning my face back to hers.

"Hey you…" she grinned politely, "…I'm okay."

My eyes nearly crossed trying to be accepting of what she was saying.

"Prove it then."

Again, I got a simple answer. "I will. You'll see soon."

"How soon?"

She said nothing for a minute after that, and even moved to get up off the floor, pulling me to my feet and back in the direction of the attic ladder. But before we descended again, she turned to completely consume me in a hug as her delicate arms wrapped around my chest, twisting together on my back. She pressed herself to me like a storm might rip off the roof and drag her away from me. And when I finally got my breath back and thought to say something or kiss her or anything, she whispered faintly into my shoulder.

"Soon."

* * *

When I said 'soon', I meant it. I wanted to tell him everything I knew and everything I wanted, simply because he was the person I was supposed to tell, I had to.

We spent the rest of the weekend covering the house inside and out, with lights, ornaments, garland, and of course treats. I think I baked everything I had in the pantry and fridge, leaving nothing but hundreds of cookies and cakes and pies. Mort kept the kids busy most of Sunday with raiding the mall an hour away in Ashville and then coming home to practically wrap themselves up with all of the paper and tape that was needed. I watched them on and off with giggles, and caught a wandering, curious eye from Mort every so often as well. I think he was purposefully watching me to make sure I didn't run away or jump off a cliff or something like that; probably thinking that I was as depressed as I seemed to be acting lately.

It wasn't true, I was actually happier than I'd been in a long time, but I just didn't know how to show it or present myself with it. A hundred different emotions were coursing through me at any second in the day, and none of them helped calm me any better. But I knew, that once the kids were asleep that night and I had the chance to finally relax and tell him everything, that things would be better around here.

At least that's what I was hoping for.

So I finished all the baking to find the kids and him asleep on the couch with Rudolph playing on the TV, and then went upstairs to take a shower. I hunted for a certain old Van Halen tee in the bottom drawer of his dresser and slid it on with a pair of his boxers, making sure that my hair was a tumbling, wet mess before going back down. The living room was empty, and I could hear the sound of flicking lights and kisses goodnight down the hallway instead, so I snuck into the kitchen after adding some more wood into the fireplace, and made a quick pot of coffee, holding back from laughing as much as possible.

When I heard footsteps and then his voice, I quickly poured two cups together. Mort came in yawning and in his pajamas, and stood leaning against the archway frame, watching me in the low light of the kitchen stove.

"Need any help cleaning up?" He asked, obviously in reference to the baking disaster scattered around.

"No." I replied, walking towards him with a cup of coffee out. Black, the way he has always taken it. "Just leave them. I want to talk to you."

He yawned again, took the coffee, and nodded as he followed me back into the living room. We sat down together, curled into the mass of pillows and blankets the kids and him had shared, and sipped to level off our coffee cups before I sat mine down and gripped onto his leg softly.

"Reminded of anything?"

He looked over at me oddly, unsure.

"Should I be?"

"_Yes_…this is supposed to be just like our first night together. The coffee and the couch…your old shirt you lent me…" I was a little defeated at not having done a good enough job of re-enacting and whispered under my breath, "Guess it worked out better in my head."

Pouting at me sadly, as if he'd ruined my heart or something, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him, my head on his chest.

"It's perfect. Even better than the first time," he hummed sweetly against my forehead with a light kiss. But I knew I had to see his eyes for this, for the things I was going to say, so I sat back up and kept my hand on his leg, while his arm stayed behind my head on the couch.

"I'm glad, because I wanted to make it all easier for you to _digest_ this time."

"Make what easier?"

"Giving you the proof you wanted."

He eyed me strongly at the remark, as if he'd been waiting hesitantly for the last 36 hours to hear it. I smiled and quickly jumped from the couch and heard him try to stop me with a low grumble. His concern was softened though when he saw me walk across the room toward the tree, and grasp a tiny wrapped box from inside of its braches between stars and tinsel.

The look on his face was priceless when I turned to walk back at him. It was a mixture of confusion and excitement and regrettably repressed sex drive, and it made me giggle softly as I slid onto the couch next to him, settling the small present on his knee.

"What's this?"

"I told you. It's the proof."

"This?"

He held the box up with a twisted brow at me.

"Yes, just open it."

"Am I going to regret it?"

I sighed at this and bit my lip. "God, I hope not."

He seemed even more worried when I said this, but slowly moved to tear away the red pinstriped foil and ribbon bow, his hands carefully shaking as he held onto the box lid. He looked up at me only once, right before he opened it, and then there was absolute and utter silence. The kind of silence that kills anyone standing in or around it. The kind of silence that makes you want to scream for allowing it to arrive.

I watched him with glazed, fearful eyes as he sat with the box open on his lap and face unmoving.

"I don't care what it is…_just_…say something," I pleaded quietly.

He lifted the content of the box and held it up in the light of the fireplace before us, tilting it a little to examine its marking when I heard him gulp once and nearly laugh twice.

"I don't know how it happened, it's probably my fault. If you don't want to do this, there's still time to--"

"Roxanne."

He cut me off with a sideways glare, obviously angered by even the thought of my coming suggestion. I looked up at him, debating the point of my own life while he kept on examining the pink plus sign to end all his questions in the soft flamed glow, awkwardly chuckling at times until he peered over to catch my eyes.

"You're really pregnant again?"

I held my face low. "Yeah."

"Which explains the weird moods…?"

"Yeah…"

"And the headaches."

I nodded to this and breathed deep, waiting for him to say what was next.

"When did you find out?"

"Yesterday. I took that when you went to buy the tree with the kids."

He nodded same as me with a soft, "A huh."

"I just wanted to find the right time to tell you, when I knew for certain. The last time I did this was in a jail, I…" my throat was closing on me as I tried to speak, but I coughed and went on, "…I wanted to make sure it was special this time."

"It was special the first time too."

His arm came around to hold my shoulders tight again and pull me nearer to his face, while his second hand rose to brush away my suddenly falling tears. He was smiling at me still, which I thought was a pretty good sign and it made me dry my eyes a little quicker too.

"So…" He began as I breathed deep again and waited for the words I was so afraid of for some reason. I should have known better than to even think I should be "…what are we gonna name this new little fiend?"

Mort winked at me in the fiery light, holding me and coming closer to my face with his parting lips as I laughed.

"You're okay with all this? Again?"

"I'm a little more than _okay_ with it, baby. Am I allowed to be…_ecstatic_?"

His breath was hot on my smiling mouth, his hands holding my face softly.

"You can be anything you want."

"Oh is that right…?"

He laughed, pressing his lips down upon mine with a heat I couldn't ever deny. Mort was tender, and close to me in ways he hadn't been in weeks. There had been something in the way, a huge, unrecognizable problem that I couldn't explain to myself, let alone to him. And now, as I struggle to keep my head sound and in control, with his tongue slicing through my lips like some crazed animal, I realize that there's nothing much left to worry about at all.

So we're having another kid, just another one to add to the brood, so to speak. We're going to have to stop being just that more selfish than before, okay, fine. And we have days and weeks where we don't know how to deal or relate with anything between us. Good. I'm glad.

Because the coming back to_ us_ part, feels amazing.

He pulled away from my mouth long enough to let me breathe and said gently, "I hope you know how much I love you."

Sighing, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. "I do."

"And nothing is ever going to stop me from being right here. I'm never leaving this spot. You know that?"

"Yes." I let my finger run down his cheek. "Me neither."

His grin was wider even now and he pulled me into his arms, completely drowning me in his scent and his warmth and the hundred million other perfect details about the man I married and survived with still. I couldn't imagine him not being there, or me not being there, with our babies and our house and finally our place in the world.

I guess I could have tried to imagine it.

I just never wanted to do it.


	3. His, Hers and Theirs

**Chapter 2: His, Hers and Theirs

* * *

**

The morning came long before we'd even prepared ourselves for it. Sunlight poured right into our room, covering the cold that had formed from the snow on the windows overnight and melting it away as I lay somber and thoughtful in Mort's arms. To be quite honest, I couldn't even remember how we'd made it to the bed. Unless we just made love from one inch of the house to the other, which judging by the look on his waking face alone, it is entirely plausible.

I had lain looking at him for a while before he began to stir. I counted every one of his eyelashes because there were so many. I wondered what color our new baby's eyes would be; green like mine or chocolate like his. Max and Maddie each had taken on one of ours, and same with our noses. Max had Mort's nose and Madeline had mine. But this new baby would be a different experience, a combination of everything I supposed, something to think about for the next eight and a half months.

I couldn't believe we were doing it again. Oh sure, I'd hoped, but never imagined it would come so unexpectedly, so out of nowhere. I still couldn't even figure out how it had happened since we'd prevented it for almost four years now; unless it was some sort of Christmas miracle.

Mort cracked his jaw with a wide mouth, same as every other morning, and glanced at me through the tired slits his eyes were in as he teased.

"What are _you_ lookin' at?"

I smiled and turned on my side in his arms, patting his cheek.

"The man who knocked me up _again.._."

"Oh." He chuckled and tapped on my back. "Well, you're welcome."

Nuzzling back down into the crook of his arm, I kissed the skin on the left side of his chest softly. His skin, that cinnamon skin that drove me crazy, felt so warm under my lips I nearly fell back to sleep. And had it not been for his determination to twist and glance as the alarm clock, I would have still been wrapped in his skin.

"Shit." He mumbled, sitting up and pulling me with him. "Hon, its ten thirty."

My brown twisted, too lost from sleep and sex to think straight and I replied ignorantly.

"So?"

He was already across the room, pulling on his jeans and a wrinkled shirt when he turned back to look at me with an obvious grin.

"Uh, so we have to get to the airport…screaming, _obnoxious_ family members…ring any bells, babe…?"

My eyes shot wide about the same time I leapt out of the bed and ran naked for the bathroom. I turned the shower on instantly and yelled out at him, "Get the kids up!"

As I jumped under the water, I could just make out him mocking my command and laughed. "Oh yeah sure…you take your time in the shower…I'll just wrestle the lions alone!"

* * *

I darted down the hallway, my feet freezing on the cold hard wood as I hurried toward the kids' rooms. Of course when I got to Maddie's room first, she was nowhere to be found. I ran through their shared bathroom toward Max's room, and discovered the same thing.

"What the hell…?"

I shook my head and went back out to the hallway again, heading down to the living room instead. I could just make out whispers; unintelligible ones mixed with giggles, and skipped every other step until I saw two pairs of little boots poking out from around the tree at the bottom of our main staircase. The both of them sat patiently on the couch, munching on a shared box of cheerios and smiling up at me, already dressed and apparently ready to go.

"Daddy!" Madeline shouted out as she barreled towards me and into my legs.

Max got up slowly, like the devil himself and came to meet us, looking up at me with wide eyes and crossed arms. "You're late you know."

"Yeah, yeah buddy…come here…" I growled with a laugh and lifted them both under my arms in a swoop, as they screamed with giggling. "Making me look bad in front of Mom again, huh munchkins…?"

I flew them over my head and twisted them both around at the same time for minutes on end, never once noticing that Roxanne had finished showering and stood dressed and ready at the door watching us and tying her hair up anxiously. It wasn't until I heard her motherly, affectionate tone that I slowed the motion of my near puking offspring and looked up.

"Let's go _children_."

Her crooked brow was an obvious tease when I saw her smiling back at me with the door wide and keys jingling, and I carried the kids out into the snowy driveway while she locked it behind us and followed.

"You got them up and dressed quick. Super dad much?" She teased, not having a clue at all that our kids were quite capable of beating us to the punch of readying themselves for the day. I didn't let her think for a second that they did it on their own. They're still young enough that I can take advantage of their underdeveloped brains.

"Oh yeah…" I replied back. "…no big deal."

She smiled walked beside us as I carried the kids, still screeching all the way to the truck.

"To the airport, astronauts!"

And still I have to ask myself, how the hell do I deserve all this?

* * *

**Ashville Regional Airport – 11:35 am

* * *

**

"Okay, so take Max and find your parents. They're getting out at Gate…" I scanned the map I'd found at the front and their information from the phone calls the day before. "…256."

Mort nodded and threw Max into the air, where he eventually landed on his shoulders, the way that always made me so nervous.

"Be careful with him, please." I urged as he rolled his eyes and tugged on Max's little hand.

"Maxwell…tell Mommy to stop worrying."

I glanced up from my immature husband's eyes to the strangely more mature ones of my four year old son, ten feet in the air. He smiled down at me with jelly smeared at the corner of his mouth and shouted, "Stop worry-_ying_ Mommy!"

Mort looked at me the same before he turned to walk toward his parent's arrival gate, and whispered as he kissed my forehead, "Don't worry Mommy." And then they were off together and I finally took notice of Maddie tugging on my jeans.

"Alright, alright Bug. Come on." I lifted her onto my hip and started walking in the opposite direction, fast; at the highest speed I could manage in fact.

We weren't going to be able to get as close to the gate as I would have liked, with security measures as deadly as any terrorist in this town, but I could still see the gate across a hundred seats or more. Maddie and I stood waiting for only a few minutes before we saw the plane pull around the lane from the runway and begin unloading passengers through the large door. Dozens of people emerged, all kinds of families and spouses, lovers and friends, and eventually almost when I wasn't even looking close enough, I saw the twirling movement of a brown, curly haired little girl, as she bounced and skipped through the door with her pink suitcase and fuzzy pink scarf to match.

_My Emily_, still more like me than she ever will be like Sydney.

I smiled and moved around from the corner where I was waiting, holding Maddie as I came close enough to shout out, "Em!"

Her bright blue eyes darted through crowds to catch mine and lit up instantly as she ran from where I saw Sydney, Robert and Jake all walking casually.

"Aunt Rae!"

I couldn't believe she was almost nine or how big she'd gotten since she had come to stay with us in the summertime. Emily stormed toward me, pulling at her suitcase and flipping her curls everywhere. I knelt to steady myself with Maddie and catch her as she pummeled deep into my arms, squeezing tight and laughing.

"I've missed you!"

"Aw, I've missed you too."

She pulled back and stood between my legs, hugging Madeline as tight with a kiss on top of her head.

"Missed you too, little Maddie." Maddie returned with a giggle and a shift down from my hip and legs as she darted around with Emily nearby.

I stood just as Sydney pulled me into a strong, longing hug, the first since the Christmas before. It had been difficult for her to get away at all this year, understandably so with Robert's new accounting firm opening up in Manhattan and her running all the books for him.

"You look so good, honey. Is this what the woods does to a girl?"

I bit my laugh with a lip as I stared at her city manicure and highlights, "I don't think you'll ever know the wonders of natural beauty treatments, Syd."

She shook her head and patted my cheek sarcastically. "As if I would want to."

It felt good to be in my big sister's arm again, much better than I imagined it was going to feel when my own mother showed up in her private jet. She refused to fly commercial, of course.

Robert hugged me tight too with a kiss on top of my head, before pulling back, making a joke about the size of our little airport compared to JFK, and then walked away to quickly take a call. This, I knew was just the beginning of the next week with him.

Jake stood by with a funny grin on his face, one I think I'd seen before, a long time ago and I curled my index finger at him with a smirk, begging him to come to me. And he did, gripping tight around my waist as he pressed himself to me. I laughed, not expecting it, but finding it too humorous to joke about it. The pictures Syd had been sending didn't do him any justice; he was growing up to be quite the handsome young man, at all of thirteen years old.

We moved back from one another as I messed his dusty, skateboarder hair, and laughed.

"Quite the little punk."

"Yeah, you just wait. I'm gonna teach Max everything I know this week."

I gripped with a humorous fear and shook my head at him and pulled him into a half headlock as we walked to follow after everyone else.

"Don't you even think about it..."

He laughed out as we stumbled along together, my arm around his shoulder as he finally asked:

"So where's your baby-daddy at?"

I turned my face down at him quickly, with a smirk and narrowed eyes.

"What?" I laughed, "Mort's my husband, goofball."

"Yeah, I know. But he was your baby-daddy first."

I rolled my eyes, pulling him closer and tighter and then glanced up to see none other than my 'baby-daddy' walking across the terminal towards us. His mother was brushing something off his shirt while his dad and brother teased and poked fun at something, and I smiled in excitement just to see them all again.

I watched as Emily and Maddie skipped along together toward everyone, and watched as Mort caught Emily deep in both of his arms, swinging her around as his mother took Madeline into her own arms.

Me, Sydney and Jake approached quickly too, with Robert off somewhere nearby on his blackberry, or blueberry, or whatever. Mort's parents and his brother Sam's wife Kate chatted with Sydney, catching up from the last Christmas they'd spent together, while I took Jake over to kick Big Sam himself in the butt when he wasn't looking. I am a terrible influence.

"Hey now, what's the big deal?!" He shouted sarcastically and turned to see me holding onto Jake protectively and laughing. "Well, my my my…Miss Roxy, you're lookin' good enough to eat, as always."

"Gross." Jake replied before I could and walked away in disgust.

"Good job scaring the kid, Sam."

"Eh, he'll get over it once his voice cracks."

He smiled wide and sweet, the way I always adored about Big Sam, so named because of his height, his bulked size, and his reputation as Captain of his Illinois high school and college football teams. He looked over me again teasingly and pulled me into a huge bear hug, even managing to lift me completely off the ground.

"How did my nerdy little brother get so damn lucky?"

I leaned back, still in his arms but at the height of his eyes and smiled.

"I guess he picked up a thing or two from you."

"Yeah…" he chuckled loudly and dropped me back down beside where Maddie and Emily stood. "…sneaky bastard stole all my best lines, I bet."

"You mean the cheesy ones? Those are yours?"

Sam shook his head with a bellow of laughter again, "Touché', little Rox," and Mort tilted his face into our conversation finally, punching his brother in the shoulder before stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist, his head on my shoulder.

"She's only little because you're a beast."

I knew I was in the middle of some 'brotherly affection' and quickly tore myself from his arms to return to my relatively normal sister, and to finally throw myself into the arms of the man and woman who I wished could have been my parents all along.

"Roxanne, sweetheart."

"Mom. Dad."

I sighed thankfully while in Mort's parents' arms, thanking them just for coming to save me from the rest of the demons I would have in my house for a week, and they laughed with equal sentiments. But it was when I pulled back to talk and smile with the both of them that his mom, Jane, held my face gently in her hands and stared at me with a curious, almost all knowing eye and then lightly smiled.

"You are positively glowing, honey." I smiled, flattered by the comment of course, but not the least bit worried until she looked into my eyes closer, more determined and then softly whispered back, "When did you find out?"

Her grin was wide, and when she glanced back to Todd, Mort's father, he looked down upon me the same way, as if he understood and knew the same secret.

"When did I find out…_what_?"

"Oh Roxanne, you can't hide it from me."

"Better believe her darlin'," Todd added, "She's brilliant at knowing these things."

"At knowing what?"

His mom leaned in to kiss both of my cheeks and then whisper in my ear softly, "You're giving my son another baby, you beautiful girl."

I laughed happily with a grin up at Mort's dad and squeezed his mom in for a warmer, tighter hug, thanking her the whole time for just being her, and for understanding, and for seeing the signs and the things that my mother would have never noticed until month 8 or year 22 of a life.

Mort came over to join our private little conversation a moment later, proven simply by the touch of his warm hand on my lower back, caressing gently through my sweater. His mom pulled away, smiling at the both of us, with her hand still on my cheek reassuringly.

"Your secret is safe with me, honey. Let's just hope it's another set of these, _gorgeous_, little _sweeties_."

She knelt down below all of us to squeeze and kiss and joke with the twins as they giggled and held onto her tight. I was glad they had this with Mort's parents, because mine were the exact opposite most of the time.

Mort kissed me quick before we all began to move away through the airport and towards the lobby. Sydney and Robert as well as Sam and his wife Kate had each rented a car for the week, so that they could go sight-seeing and do other things when they needed, without bothering us for transportation. It was good, because we only had just enough room to get Mort's parents home with us in the Explorer. My own parents wouldn't be flying in on the company jet until six, and even then, they would be driving their awaiting Mercedes rental. I tried to ignore the thought of it, their necessity to be so flashy all the time, but found it was impossible as usual, and so I covered it up with the smiling, easy going faces of all my other family instead.

Mort held my hand as we walked in a quiet privacy from the rest of the suddenly huge group, saved by his brother and my sister who held the twins on the way out. He nudged my arm when I began looking out at the runway tracks of the private airport terminal in the distance.

"They'll get here okay, don't worry."

I laughed under my breath, not quite thinking what he thought I was.

"I'm not worried about them _not_ getting here. I'm worried about them actually being here."

He joined me for a short chuckle, having known all too well by now about my hushed mental relationship over my parents.

"I'm sure it won't be so bad."

My husband was trying, as adorable as could be, he was and I had to give him that much.

"I hope you aren't going to be the judge of what _'so bad'_ is this week?"

He laughed one more time and squeezed my hand tighter as we followed his parents out to the car garage.

"I'm only the judge of what's _'so good'_, like these jeans you're wearing," He chided devilishly in my ear with a bite of his lower lip, "…they are _so good_…"

I shook my head, rolled my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder as we watched my sister, Robert and the kids already loading into their rental SUV and handing Maddie off to Mort's mom, and where Sam and Kate were doing the same with Max.

Once we'd found our car a few flights up in the garage, we drove down to meet everyone else in their cars and led the way back through Ashville and the mountains where our house was hidden away. Mort's parents asked us all kinds of questions on the way there, about the new baby we had just found out about the day before, about our writing and work, and about the house. Jane played with me and the twins in the backseat, while Mort and his dad talked about sports and the economy and the new Pacino picture in the front of the car.

And the entire way back home, all I could think about was how ideal a moment it really was. With two grandparents who loved their grandchildren more than life itself, and actually bothered to visit numerous times during the year, instead of only the one. I thought about how Mort and his parents had been able to understand one another after all he'd gone through just to save himself and them, and how even in changing his name, leaving the state, getting a divorce, and going on a whirlwind adventure with a pregnant girlfriend, they still had nothing against their son. I thought about how perfect that was and how I was glad they accepted me as a daughter just the same.

I'd never ever, truly been a _daughter _before. Just a financial dividend really.


	4. Over My Head

**Chapter 3: Over My Head

* * *

**

_Jansen lifted the knife directly overhead, his knees half sunken in mud where he hovered before the body and brusied face of man who had taken everything from him, everything he had worked so hard to achieve and care for. He saw his wife's eyes in every blade wound from the near corpse's head to the ankles of his boots, and he saw every tear he had shed for his son, taken too soon and by the wrong cause. His son had died for Jansen's own mistakes. _

_But now he knew he could end the terror he slept with nightly and release the demons with just one raging blow of the knife's end into the heart of the machine that had ruined him slowly. _

_His hand shook and wavered in the pouring Lousisiana storm, his teeth clenched and his knuckles hardened around the handle of the weapon as he screamed out…

* * *

_

"Oh no you don't! Come back here with those scissors…"

My hands stopped moving over the keys, my fingers trembling with the thought that I would lose it. No, focus, stay on track, listen to the letters not the—

"Max, no. Not the wall!"

Every one of the joints in my hand seized over the keyboard, my head suddenly locked into another place outside of the door and down the hallway, trapped by the sound of demonic childish laughter and the Uncle who had promised to keep the minions occupied with Spongebob and his Christmas special. I knew just from the voices in the hall and the imagery of scissors scraping against painted walls, that Kate was never going to have kids with Sam. And I didn't particularly blame her.

But now I had lost complete focus, right here at the end of the goddamn chapter. Jansen was supposed to have killed Randall King four days ago, and now because I had a son who was as equally entertained with weapons as his old man, the criminal would get away from me for a whole day more. I couldn't go back to writing, especially when the door to the second floor office flew open with a rush of feather boas and glitter and Emily and Maddie storming toward me with a plate.

"Hey Uncle Rainman." Yes, I adored that she still called me that, but there were better times than now. "Grandma Jane told us to bring you cookies."

I smiled down at Maddie and then toward Emily at my seated eyelevel.

"She said it would help your concentration."

Her big words made me a little happier; I loved smart kids. But she was still wrong.

"Thanks, girls." I squeezed Maddie's nose as she worked to climb into my lap. "What's happening, Bug?"

"Here." She lifted a chocolate chip cookie from the plate and pressed it against my mouth while I laughed. "I'll feed you, daddy." I took a bite and caught a glimpse of the haunting half filled, open Word document on the screen behind her pink bows and purple eye makeup (courtesy of Emily's suitcase no doubt).

The chapter was done for the day, sadly, but that's just how it goes now I guess. I don't get interrupted by loud stereo systems from inherited farmhouses in the woods anymore. Now I get interrupted by the products of my giving into that temptation, that day, that Aerosmith tattoo and those green eyes.

So in the end, it's my own damn fault.

Madeline continues to feed me a second and third cookie, and eventually I hear my dad wandering in through the door behind me, and swivel with her in my lap to see him with the day's newspaper.

"It's all yours now." He smiles and tosses it onto my desk. "Of course…I solved your crossword."

I shook my head, not expecting anything less. It's where I got the habit from afterall.

"No big deal, I wanted to try to finish this chapter anyway."

He looked over my head to the screen and pushed his glasses on to read it.

"It's terrible, don't even bother."

With a laugh he glanced away again with a nod, understanding my personal critiscim. He saw Maddie in my arms finally, with melted chocolate on her face and a half bitten cookie in her hand and chuckled with a deep roar that made his gut jump. She liked that and standing her up on my legs she reached to smack his stomach a few times before he lifted her up and carried her off.

"I'll take this little spider monkey for ya."

She made wild monkey noises in response.

"Thanks." I replied, and watched them leave together laughing before shutting the door and allowing me to turn back around to the computer.

My fingers were over the keys, ready to strike, and the immediate sound of a crashing pan on the hardwood floors below me, caused another miss. I flew back into the rounded hold of the creaky old chair, my hands rubbing my face in exhaust and annoyance, and I just grumbled to myself, well aware that I was officially done for the day. But maybe a break after six straight hours was fair enough.

The screaming went on and on through the house, the jogging of feet on waxed wood, and the tumbling of bodies and toys and boxes down both the main and back staircases of the house. The noise that I had claimed to miss so badly when Roxanne and the kids were away, had now been multiplied by the force of Satan, amplified for even him to hear in stereo deep below and cackle at.

"Fuck."

I whispered quietly under my breath and pushed away from the chair, still grumbling all the way to the door of the office, then even further down the long jetting hallway, heading for any quiet corner I could find. There were five bedrooms, each of them occupied by someone or something. The bathroom in the second floor hall, and the one between the kids' rooms were prone to echoes of everything surrounding their walls, so I counted them out and kept stomping around, sensing the growth of grey hairs by the second.

I thought about hiding out in the towel closet and even examined it closely for a minute, but decided against it when something flew through the air above my head and hit the door. "Ew." I mumbled, crossing my brow just to figure out if it was a booger or play dough, before eventually turning away and stalking for privacy again as the boys charged down the hall at me.

Fumbling on the back staircase, I just missed the eye of my mom in the kitchen before escaping through the basement doorway. We had completely renovated this huge area when we moved in, with air conditioning and heat, carpet, a pool table and flat screen for game days with our friends from town, a pull out couch where Jake had been sleeping the last two days, and a redesigned bathroom, utility closet, and laundry room. It was noisy in the central room, but the back area I noticed as never before, down the hall where the laundry room was, seemed perfectly quaint, with only a whisper of tumbling clothes.

I slipped inside of the door and shut it behind me, flicking on the light, and as heavily as possible, slamming my body against the shelf of baskets and extra towels.

"Jesus…"

I breathed in deep and exhaled again, hearing not a soul in the earth. It was just me and a load of whites.

* * *

"Roxanne you really should sit down, and put some of this money you have sitting around into the market."

I was sitting down now, across from him at the dining room table (yes we cleaned it), and picking through a bowl of fruit Jane had fixed for me, per her silent, motherly, doctoral request. I wanted to enjoy every bit of it, the strawberries and blueberries and grapes she'd managed to find in season at the farmer's market, even in the middle of winter, but I couldn't, because I was too perturbed by my father's argument to invest, invest, and invest some more.

"It's about security. The two of you have a mountain of funds just going ignored in a bank account."

"We're saving."

"You're saving eighteen million dollars?"

I shot him a crude glare, the one I had consistently over the last four years, any time he mentioned the ever-increasing dollar amount between me and my husband. I hated money, almost as much as Mort did, and so we didn't spend unless we needed to. We used money for two decent cars, the single, beautiful and quaint home of our dreams, a few renovations here and there, and our children's college funds. We never spent great amounts of it for much else. We were content right here, with what we had when we got here, and the lifestyle like the one my parents and sister had wasn't interesting to us.

"Dad, we don't want to touch the money."

"But you keep earning more, every time one of you writes one of these books of yours. Hell, two of them have been made into films already. You continue to earn but refuse to spend? What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything, I just don't like having the money."

He shook his head with a growl while I contemplated getting up and going to put the twins down for their nap.

"If you don't like having the money…then do something with it. Invest and you'll never see it again until it doubles and gets divided between your children. Then they can live off of it."

I really didn't like that idea at all. I refused to allow my kids to be raised the same way I had, the same way my sister was still prying for with my parents' death. In my heart, I wanted to see my children find something they love to do, become good at it, and make a living for themselves. I wanted them to be independent with ease, instead of the way I had to fight for it all the time.

"No. We're not going to do that. But I appreciate the idea, Dad."

I could see the anger growing in his eyes, but didn't particularly care, and I got up a moment later to thank Jane for the fruit and walk out into the living room to find the twins. They were curled on the floor under where Mort's dad rested in the recliner, coloring all over a bunch of scattered paper.

"Max…Maddie, come on. Nap time."

They sighed with defiance and kept coloring, ignoring me as usual. I walked around the couch and knelt before them on the floor.

"Maxwell. Madeline. Let's go, now."

Max threw a crayon across the room, angered obviously, and Maddie stood up and stomped away toward the staircase. I had to pull Max from the ground, prying him off of Todd's recliner as he woke him. I apologized, to which Mort's dad only tried to help me corral Max and get him toward the stairs with bribes of funny stories about pirates. He knew how obsessed Max had gotten with that stuff, and I appreciated any help I could get.

Believe it or not, it was exactly the opposite of what I was getting from my own dad. He walked behind me, still jabbering about our conversation from before, refusing to give up so easily.

"Don't you want to leave these kids with anything, Roxanne? How can you be so selfish…didn't you learn anything from me and your mother?"

I had a million answers to that one for him, but digressed until I knew I couldn't any longer. I followed Todd while he held Max, and lifted Maddie up from the last of the steps to carry her the rest of the way to the her room.

"I'm only thinking of your best interests. Investing is the key in today's economy, you need to buy stocks wisely and quickly nowadays."

"I don't know anything about investing."

I was getting tired of listening to him ramble on and on about the same thing, the thing I really knew nothing about. Maddie struggled in my arms all the way down the hall, into her room and down onto the bed. My dad remained at the door, not even concerned with the fact that I needed to get her to sleep, and spoke defiantly to me, as if I were a child same as the one I was putting down for naptime. I felt like I should be lying in the bed right next to her, with my footie pajamas and stuffed bear.

"I can teach you all about investing, it's really quite easy. I just can't believe that husband of yours doesn't know the first thing about it. What sort of a man today doesn't know how to handle his family's funds?" I glanced back at him angrily, but ignored the rhetoric question long enough to get Maddie under the covers, at least until he spoke again. "And what I really can't believe, is that you let him sit up there in that office of his all day, writing about ax murders or whatever he does, while you manage the kids and the house alone."

Now I knew to stop him and with the fury I had held back for too long. I walked away, leaving Madeline wide awake and listening to stand between him and the bed.

"What are you saying, Dad? That I should just spend my money on a bunch of nannies and maids, and let them take care of my kids and my house?"

"I didn't say anything of the sort. Now, don't put words in my mouth."

"You already put them there yourself. You assume that I do everything around here and Mort does nothing but write. Did you forget, I'm a _lazy, ignorant_ writer too?"

He only eyed me curiously, wondering same as me where this was all going. Especially when I raised my voice even higher.

"We write, we _both_ take care of our kids _every day_, and no, we don't give a DAMN about investing our millions and millions of pointless dollars!"

I took a breath when I heard Maddie laughing behind me, probably at the subject of millions of dollars. She was fascinated with counting pennies at the moment.

I looked back up into my father's overpowering eyes and spoke again. "If Mort and I wanted to live the way you and mom have, then we would, but we _don't_. We happen to like our _one_ house, and or mediocre cars and clothes. We don't want a private jet or chauffer every time we go somewhere, okay? I never wanted any of that Dad, and I've worked really hard to get away and not have any of it anymore."

I knew he understood me, because his brow always faded downward with his eyes glossed over when he did. My dad was a strong man when it came to topics like these, but it was a trait that he had granted me the same, and he knew this as well as I did. One of us always had to win, and today, I finally felt like it could be me.

"I really do appreciate the concern, I do. But it's just not necessary. The money is in the bank and it's going to stay there until we need it for something serious."

I quieted down a little as I saw my mom finally approach from down the hall, with her pearls and Eves Saint Laurent dress suit and intoxicatingly worthless Chanel no.5 perfume. She looked at me richly, as if she was going to finally allow me the floor in my own house for once, and I took it greedily as I concluded to the both of them.

"Please, let me and Mort worry about our own finances. We're adults, we can handle it alone."

My mother looked up at my father, who stayed focused on my eyes alone. I felt so confident that he would accept my pleading terms and lay low for the rest of the week, and hopefully the rest of his life. But, I often give my parents more credit than they're worth in the sentimental department. He parted his lips again, and I crossed my fingers mentally.

"I'm going to call Terry, my broker in New York, and look into some decent stocks for you today."

My jaw dropped, my eyes bulged, and before I could clench my teeth and bite my tongue to stop it, I screamed out as loudly as possible. No words at first, just tired, disgusted screaming as I pushed past the both of them and down the hall toward the stairs again. Before I stepped down though, I turned to them in the hall again and stated flatly, without emotion to waste on their lack of care anyway, and said:

"By the way, I'm having another baby." My dad's eyes became slits of shock while my mother gasped as if the world had completely ended and fallen through a black hole. I opened my mouth one last time before swinging back and shouting with a growl again down the stairs. "Congratulations!"

Sam and Kate jumped as they came in the front door from their walk, and asked if everything was alright, but I ignored them. Mort's mother came running out of the kitchen in fear for someone's life, and brushed my back and hair as I came to her, breathing heavily.

"Oh sweetheart, what's the matter?"

I didn't want to worry her about it too.

"I'm fine." I replied, lying. "I just need to find some quiet."

"I think that's a good idea."

She smiled and brushed my hair once more before I turned away and headed in the direction of the basement doorway at the back alcove of the kitchen. I was certain they all watched me until I disappeared behind the closed door, and I knew there would be discussions galore while I was away, but I didn't care. I needed quiet, some sanctuary to focus inside of for a while, and I needed to be as far away from James and Annie Hayden as possible for the rest of the day.

I slowly moved down the stairs, hearing the TV below running and the music blaring but as soon as I got to the bottom step, saw no one around; they were all either upstairs or out doing stuff in town. Jake had taken to the basement room as if it were his own, and this made me smile a little, to see teenage boy clothes scattered on the pull out couch, muddy shoes, his laptop and iPod and video games and cell phone and whatever else a thirteen year old could have to ruin his imagination with.

I prayed this wouldn't be Max in ten years, but knew better and giggled a little as I picked up a few of his loose shirts and socks and took them with me, heading toward the back hall of the basement, thinking of doing some laundry to calm myself, as usual. It was the one room in the entire house, where when the door was closed and the clothes were moving inside of the machines, any human's mind suddenly became untouchable. It was like the free peace zone, the one only I really knew about.

I was so angry, I didn't even notice the closed door and light on.

* * *

I stood there for twenty minutes at least, just reminding myself of what silence could _sound_ like. Oh sure, I smacked my head in a few places on the door and shelves, hoping to get some of that good inspiration back that I had been granted at sunrise, but it wasn't happening. In fact, I was about three and half seconds away from opening the door and going back upstairs to see if Roxanne needed any help getting the kids down for a nap, when I saw the knob turn and the door swing open without me.

She looked up and jumped with a handful of clothes when she saw me.

"Oh my god, you scared me."

"Sorry."

Her hand over her heart made me laugh as I moved aside for the door to open wide and for her to come inside. I assumed by the pile of dirty clothes she was intending to do laundry, and never once did I think she might have been down there for the same reasons as me. She leaned against the closed door, sighing deeply, as if she were out of breath and energy.

I took the clothes from her and tossed them in the wash, glancing back at her every few articles, watching her eyes grow angrier the longer she stood there.

"You okay, slugger?"

She looked up into my eyes as I leaned on the moving machine again.

"If they knew I had already_ technically_ killed someone before…they might lay off me a while."

I was well aware where this one was going.

"What's the day call? Trying to convince you to get back your grandmother's house again?"

"No…" she sighed, sliding across the small room to wrap her arms around my waist and lean against me at the washer. I could feel the blood pumping fast through the veins in her neck as I massaged her shoulders. Sweetly, she said, "Stocks. Don't you know…" her eyes darting up to mine with a sarcastic glow, "They're all the rage…?"

"Oh is that right?" I replied, cynically the same, as I held her waist and pushed her towards the opposing dryer front. Her arms wound about my neck as she stepped back with me.

"It is according to my _darling_ _daddy_. He wants us to do something with the money."

"Like what?" I asked, tracing over her lips, chin and neck until I reached an unwanted turtleneck sweater.

"He wants us to invest and double it for the kids. Or buy a yacht, or something else stupid and flashy. I don't know...he's just driving me insane…" Her hands left me when she pressed them into her temples roughly, as if she were planning on pushing the demons out.

"Easy…" I whispered, taking her hands away to hold them. "Take a breath."

She did, masterfully, and then held my eyes again for a moment before I leaned down to plant wild, spontaneous kisses under her chin and across her jaw to her ear. Her fingers were leaving prints even through my shirt as she clung on tighter, tensing the way I knew she would, the same way she always does when James and Annie are within a hundred yards.

I busied myself with just kissing her, sweetening what her parents had bruised again; her liveliness. They'd gotten even better at it since our small, backyard wedding and the twins being born, and in fact every holiday and important date or visit since then. They were few and far between, but it didn't stop the potency of them. Roxanne was a different person altogether when her parents were around; she was always on edge, as if the sky might fall on the both of us or something. And of course, it was my job to relieve this each and every time. Which I have to admit fully, is the great essence of my task as husband.

Her grip soothed into my neck and arms as she held me closer, and I heard her whisper in my ear.

"Make love to me…right _here_."

That, for anyone who wasn't already convinced enough, is why I married this woman and why I would be damned if she was ever getting away from me.

My entire body melted against hers, the dryer gently shaking beneath the both of us as I bent down to carefully lift her on top of it. She laughed a little as a shudder ran clear up my spine, grateful to hear at least that much amusement from the disappointment I'd seen on her face when she first came in.

"Have I ever mentioned that I love you when you're in distress?"

She made a mock contemplation with a twisted grin. "Once or twice."

Falling between her open jeans, I focused as quickly on the button and zipper as I could, not entirely sure whether Jake would come back down to his room during all of this, but knowing as well as she did, that our laundry room had no lock and that any screams, would radiate throughout the rest of the basement.

Her hand ran through my hair as she watched me do all the work of removing denim and cashmere and lace and whatever else she was hiding, and then swiftly moving to take off my jeans and boxers too. Realizing the height to be indifferent to a point that would be uncomfortable at best, I lifted her back down to stand on the floor again as she stared at me smiling.

"Turn around."

I growled at her, which made the smile widen as she followed directions and leaned over the top of the shifting dryer with a giggle. I held her soft, still perfectly shaped hips in my hands as I moved behind her, brushing across her backside with what she had already seen I had to offer up. Pressed heat to heat, I wound one arm around to take hold of her right breast, pinching the rough head of her nipple and squeezing the tender skin elsewhere as she gasped and I felt the muscles under her skin twitch and ripple on my stomach.

With a second hand, I slid my fingers down slowly to weave through the silky hair I could feel, moistened quickly with her obvious need. I dove inside of the tightened cavern as I felt her entire back arch towards me, begging for it with hushed breathing and sighs, and kissed her back and shoulders gently, as I eased deeper, letting her consume the single index finger as she pleased. And trust me, she did.

"…more."

She forced the single word out quietly as I let two remote fingers slide in alongside the other one, curling them against the velvety walls until I could feel the pressure point, throbbing for attention. Roxanne gasped loudly a second time and fell with her head rolling on the top of the dryer as I pressed inside hard. Her hips bucked and her body squeezed itself naturally around me, as I left the focus on her breast to run my free hand along the ridges of her spine in front of me in the light.

I wanted to ask her a million things or tell her to talk to me, but knew it would do no good. She was useless for conversation in this position, and I admired her for it. It made me feel like I was doing something right.

Her head rose from the dryer lid again, the mass of her wild, messy curls all draping across her neck and shoulders as she slightly turned her face toward me, whispering.

"_You_." I impelled hard once more inside of her wet body, just to test her limits. To which she fought back. "I want _you_…"

"Good enough for me."

I replied with a soft, simple kiss on her mid back as I pulled my fingers from her easily and moved that hand to her hip again instead. The tip of my desperate cock slid along her backside with every step I took to close in the space between us, locking her into the dryer again with kisses being preliminary to the length I found myself unable to hold from her. Her heat covered me as I slid inside, the count of her every shudder and spasm multiplying in the back of my head as I groaned to match her sudden moan.

"Mort…" she whimpered, holding onto an invisible force.

With one arm firm around her waist, I brought my other hand out to take possession of both of hers where she had them scraping against the white metal of the moving machine, foraging for control.

"Here, I've got you." I returned with a gentle whisper as her hips eased down a little to accept all of me within her. Her fingers gripped down around my single hand as I slithered back out of her damp folds.

I knew she wasn't half interested in the romance and brilliance of love making at the moment, and that her statement had been made only out of respect for herself. Roxanne would never say she wanted me to _'screw her brains out' _or that she wanted to _'be fucked'_. It wasn't her style, she was classy, which was why I was with her in the first place and why I didn't expect her to say those things.

But still, it didn't stop her from thinking them. Or from me picking up on the thoughts.

I used this as my device, sinking back within her as suddenly as could be managed, making her entire body shake against the humming dryer's edge as she yelped. Her skin was disturbingly soft, more than I'd ever known, and it caressed mine as I covered her, holding on just to get a clear breath. The swell around my thick shaft was different too, stronger, pulling me in like it was oxygen she needed or something.

And the thought crossed my mind of the proximity in which I was residing, somewhere deep beside where my child, _our_ child lain newly growing. I'd been here before like this, countless times, close to Max and Maddie, and it always drove me mad with heavier passion for some reason. To feel the warmth and suppleness in which they rested; to be there too, all of us somehow like one. I loved that.

"Mort…harder…" she begged in revered silence beneath me.

I massaged her hips to bring her body higher, changing the direction and mode as I pumped faster, deeper, richer the way she wanted it. Her back arched against my stomach, mixing with the beads of sweat forming from the closed off heat of the corner room. Her head fell onto my shoulder as I leaned in, holding her up still, to bite tenderly on her neck with a wet kiss.

"God…" I growled out with a tighter press inside of her, touching the small, always hiding key that sent her eyes rolling behind closed lids and her fingers digging into my arms around her waist and palm. "…I need…you're…"

I couldn't get a damn word out, the difficulty of sexual throes I guess. She laughed at me, something I swear to this day, I've only ever known Roxanne to do on the bounds of an orgasm. It's my sign, always, convincing me to make haste with the speed and drive, and to focus on hitting the spot at the exact moment that her muscles go weak, just to force her to see those blinking white stars.

"I know you're close…" I teased, gripping her hips harder to my waist as I sunk upwards into her again.

She kept giggling as her arm came around behind her head to hold onto the back of my neck, pulling my lips down to the crook of hers.

"Yes…" she finally screamed out, in answer to my statement or just because I'd infiltrated the bud deep within, that one that sent her into a fit. "…ohh…" Her mouth gaped open with a crooked grin as I watched from the side of her face, seeing her pause mid air in my hands, accepting the consistent breach of hardened skin and moisture as I rivaled for my own equal desire. "Yes…Mort…"

I ground harder as requested beforehand, and almost worried myself into a moment of not being able to perform or release what I needed. She had me fixed in all she was capable of, as she often times did, fearful to go on or even move or breathe or think straight. A terrible time for it I know, but as I caught a whiff of the strawberry sweat rolling off of her lacy skin, I knew I was a goner. That did it for me.

I groaned deep in her ear with only her name to match, shifting the weight of my feet as one grew numb and thrust soundly back inside of her a final time, holding onto whatever piece of her flesh I could as I felt rocks tumble down from invisible mountains and I spilled everything dark and away inside of her. I trembled on the way back down from the insatiable high, and heard her giggle become my last call to reality again.

We pulled away from one another, only long enough for her to turn around and sink between me and the smoothly tumbling music of the dryer, same as before. The rush of white and gold and silver washed over my eyes as I opened them to see only _Crayola_ based sea green, everywhere.

Her hands moved the hair out of my eyes silently as she leaned in toward my mouth, kissing with a tender, clammy peck.

"Thank you, for making me forget it all again." She whispered on my lips.

I was glad I could, and I knew I always would want to. Whatever she was going through, I had to be there. Not because it was my job necessarily, but because I couldn't imagine her losing control of a situation without me there to pick up all the pieces behind her, for her. Her dad's damage was easy to clear over with a few kisses and jolts of passionate energy in a laundry room. I just had to make sure things never got beyond that ease of repair.

I swore I'd never let her fall down like that again.


	5. Fire and Ice

**Chapter 4: Fire and Ice

* * *

**

Another two days passed by in the house, nearly as quickly as the first two. Mort and I took to showing everyone around the town at intervals, when they were done sleeping, or eating, or being lazy on their vacation. While my brother in law worked, Mort managed to play father to Jake and Emily as well, which is usually what he did when they came to visit. He took them down to the river bank at the edge of the property and showed them how to fish through the ice, which they loved, and even drove them to Emerson's Ranch down at the end of our street to go horseback riding.

Sam and Kate had taken to their own personal sight-seeing for most of the time, where they indulged their natural artistic spirits and went to the local museums and galleries. I followed them to a few, but had already seen most of the work throughout town, so ended up sticking to the house most of the time, just taking care of everyone.

My parents had eased themselves into our simple habit of living, slowly I might add, but enough to at least suit me. They hadn't even brought up the money issue again, and I had a feeling it wasn't because I blew up at them, but because Mort had talked with them when I wasn't looking. He was always better at assuring them than I was. He had no bias of having grown up with them to stop him from telling them what the deal was or how he really felt.

Mort's parents on the other hand, were as easy to live with as anyone I'd ever known, even easier than him. His mom and I went to some of the small gift shops and markets in town on Thursday, where she bought out every bit of fruit personally for me.

"We have to make sure that baby comes out with a glow like yours."

She had smiled, touching my cheek in front of a cart of blueberries. I helped her fill two bags of them, wanting to say half a dozen things to her, but not really knowing where to start. I knew she was well aware of the relationship I had with my own mother, and how it was nothing like this at all.

"Jane," I began, tying off the second bag of berries and placing it the wicker basket. "I really don't know what I would do without you. I never had anything like this growing up."

She turned to me after examining a few pears and her eyes sparkled as if she might cry, but she grinned.

"Your parents are quite complicated folks."

"Yes." I agreed solemnly, almost with a sneer of regret that she was right. "And my mother only ever wanted to spend her time earning credit at Saks than to take me or my sister out for the day, anywhere. The only time anyone did anything with me was when I would visit my grandparent's on Tashmore. They were the closest thing I had to real parents, summer parents though I guess."

I heard her let out a short sigh, and I wondered if it was for me or the condition of the fruit. When she looked back up at me though, I knew.

"It's very sad you had to be raised that way. A child should be a part of their family, instead of just something that's tagging along. You and your sister missed out on what you're giving to Max and Madeline."

"Yeah…Mort and Sam were lucky to have you and Todd too."

She giggled at this and placed a bag full of pears into the basket.

"I don't know if they were lucky, I was quite a dictator when I wanted to be." She paused with a funny grin, as if she was thinking and then she glanced at me sideways. "Of course they were a couple of terrors."

I laughed out, "They still are." And we continued to hunt for fruit without saying much else. It wasn't until we got back in the car heading for home, when Jane leaned over from the passenger's side to pat my stomach.

"This baby is going to have all the attention we can give them. Don't you worry; it's coming into a wonderful place."

And that was when I began to cry for the first time that day.

The second time was when we got home and I went upstairs to take a nap, only to find a large manila envelope waiting for me in the middle of the bed. It read in bold, smooth Sharpie, _Sunshine. _

My middle name, the one I remembered disclosing to Mort through embarrassment the first night he came to my apartment. He was the only one other than my parents and Sydney who knew the complete connotation behind it, and the fact that at one point in the history of the world, before the money and the private jets and the boarding school for their children, James and Annie Hayden were cool people. The proof lied in my name always, although I loathed admitting it to myself sometimes.

I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the prongs of the folder, sliding out a thick packet of documents. There were a bunch of signed pages, details, numbers, dollar amounts, and it confused me. But when I looked at one of the last pages to see my grandparents' aged signatures, as well as mine and Mort's, and also the signatures of the two people who had bought the property a year after we came to North Carolina, I suddenly knew what it was, a chain of titles.

This seemed normal enough; probably just something he found lying around and wanted to make sure I put in a good spot, for safe keeping of course. And had I not flipped over to the final page of the stack, I imagine I would have moved to place the envelope into the safety box in our closet without a second thought. It was odd he hadn't done so already, but I didn't think about that, not until I saw the loose, freshly drawn up and added page at the back.

It was a settlement statement and new return title. Mort's signature was no more than hours old on the page as I ran my finger across the co-signer line and felt a tear coming down from the corner of my eye. There was a second line above his, for the official owner to sign. The legitimacy of the paper depended on my signature alone.

"Merry Christmas."

I looked up quickly to see him standing at the doorway of our room, spying in on me with that crooked smile of his.

"Mort, what is this?"

He walked in toward the bed slowly, running his fingers through his hair, same as he always did when he was nervous. Standing in front of me, his hands tapping lightly on my knees, he glanced into my lap at the papers.

"I wanted to get it back for you. That house should have never left your hands."

"You sound like my dad."

He twisted his brow down at me, not liking the comparison.

"I just think you owe it to your grandmother to keep the place. You worked so hard fixing it up that summer we met."

"_You _worked so hard on it." I argued with a smile and more tears, ones he quickly brushed away.

"I want you to have it again; I didn't like it being in someone else's possession. It's yours."

I shook my head as it tossed in his hands. "It's really sweet but--"

"But nothing."

"Yes, but something." I fought again. "Mort what am I going to do with it from here? The reason I sold it was because I couldn't keep up with it from so far away."

"Don't worry about it, I hired someone for that."

I tightened my lips and glared up at him.

"You deserve to have this piece of you back. Look at everything you've done for me…"

I wanted to force myself to be mad at him, to call the rightful owners of my grandmother's farm house and beg them to reconsider the extravagant number my husband had thrown at them. It was double what the house and property combined were even worth, no doubt just to get them to accept moving out. I wanted to be furious and run across the bedroom to throw the papers in the fireplace.

But when he looked at me with those eyes, the ones that said _'It's okay, it's alright to want it still'_, I found myself unable to do much else but wrap my arms around him and just breathe him in. I didn't know if this had all come from a discussion or an agreement he might have had with my father, and I didn't particularly care, because in the end, it was Mort alone who was willing to lay down the number with a dollar sign to get my grandmother's last gift to me back.

We stayed there, me in his arms, for what felt like an entire day gone by. He slowly whispered the minor details of the contract to me, explaining that we had to take the papers with my signature on them to Larry Bancroft in town by five; the man who had sold us our house here on the river. He had drawn up all of the statements the night before, disclosed the amount to the couple in the house on Tashmore, and faxed them to Mort that morning, just in time for him to give them to me.

I got up from the bed when I saw a flash of the alarm clock that read 3:55, deciding that I should head into town early just in case.

"You wouldn't mind if I did this alone, would you?" I asked him as he followed me into the bathroom, to watch as I brushed through my hair.

His reflection in the mirror was honest and sweet as he shook his head and replied. "If it's something you think you have to do on your own…"

"I would feel better about it. Unless you really wanted to come--"

He slid in behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist as I stood still combing through the tangled curls. I felt his breath hot on my neck and stopped moving completely, unable to think past it. Wet kisses were all I could concentrate on.

"No, you're right. You should do this yourself." He whispered.

"Swear you're okay with it?" I asked, turning around in his arms, desperate to have his lips on mine instead.

"Swear." He replied before landing hard upon my readied mouth. His lips warmed every bit of me that was shivering from the cold bathroom we stood in, taking the time just to taste me, I could feel this.

I pulled back eventually, straightened my shirt a little and then leaned up to his cheek.

"This means the world to me. Thank you."

My whisper must have radiated through him just by the sensation of his trembling arms around me. I laughed and did the same again with a kiss.

"I won't be long."

He smiled when I moved aside and walked out of the bathroom, with a single turn back before I made it clear across the bedroom and out of the door.

* * *

The trip into town was short and my business with our broker Jerry, even shorter surprisingly. He was a nice man, whom I'd greatly forgotten since we purchased the house, and I enjoyed working everything out with him. I signed enough papers to deprive a large city of oxygen for a week, and smiled after every_ 'I' _in Rainey was dotted. The farm house was slowing coming back into my hands; the keys that the current owners had faxed overnight were getting closer to me with every line I signed. I could feel my grandmother coming back to me so strongly, and although it made me feel a little guilty, I was excited all the same.

When I finally finished and was leaving to return home, Jerry handed me the two gold keys and smiled as he helped me out of the door.

"Quite a remarkable man you've got for a husband, Mrs. Rainey."

I turned slightly in the grey shadow of the snowy sky around me to grin back at him.

"Yes…" I grasped the keys harder in my palm, feeling everything he'd given me. "I still can't believe he did all of this."

"Well believe it ma'am, a true Christmas marvel." He chuckled, his round stomach almost hitting me in the doorway. I giggled too and spun back on the heels of my boots to leave in the drifting snow. Before I made it to my car, I heard him shout out, "And don't let him get away from ya, darlin'!"

My smile must have been a mile wide as I clicked to unlock the car door, waving to him in agreement, "I promise I won't," and then quickly got inside to avoid the wet snow falling on my head. Jerry went back into the small building and I pulled away from the realtor's office at the edge of town, my index finger looped through the ring of the keys, squeezing them, just to make sure that it was all real and that the house was really back in our hands, my hands.

I waited until I was on the outskirts of town in the opposite direction, headed for home, until I dialed Mort, smiling the entire time I listened to the ringing. He answered on the third ring.

"_Hey, babe. You all done?"_

"I am."

"_How are those keys feelin'?" _

I held them up as I watched the icy road in front of me.

"Amazing. _You're_ amazing."

He chuckled a little, _"Nah. Just giving you a place to run away to when we get old, and you get sick of me."_

I laughed softly and shook my head.

"I doubt that will ever be the case."

"_Oh good."_ He laughed again. _"Then we'll just use it for other things…"_

I knew exactly what he meant.

"You really need to stop plotting how you're going to impregnate me next."

"_Why? I like you pregnant." _

"Fat?"

"_Pregnant is not fat." _I giggled a little and focused on the tight curve near Black Creek Road, the one I hated the most. He went on, _"So when will you be home?"_

"Just a few minutes." I heard a slight honk behind me and glanced into the rearview mirror to see a huge black SUV with its bright lights on, riding the back of my car. "If this asshole would get off my tail…"

"_Easy out there, it's icy." _

"I'm fine; I just wish he would go around me. I hate Black Creek."

I attempted to wave him off with a rolled down window and my sweater sleeve getting chilled from the snow darting through it. But whoever it was kept as close as he could get, flashing his lights a few times and revving up as I neared another tight curve. It was ridiculous, the nerve of someone, especially in that kind of weather, on a mountain. He probably wasn't from around here if he was acting like that.

I could still hear Mort in my ear. _"I'll let you go so you can drive." _

"No, I'm okay really. What's been going on at home since I left?"

He began to ramble about a few things, Sam and Kate taking the kids ice skating down the hill, my parents and his sitting around and discussing healthcare and boring stuff. I was trying to focus on all his words and keep my car moving easily around the curves as the guy continued to ride against my bumper, almost touching it a few times. It wasn't until I cleared the Creek curves and heard Mort say something about Madeline having cut her knee open on the ice pond, that I felt my car jerk forward with the pressure of the truck's revving engine.

"Shit!" I yelled with a screech, panicking as I turned my phone onto speaker and dropped it into its holder.

"_What's wrong?"_ Mort asked, just as worried.

"This same guy, he just hit my bumper. He refuses to go around me."

"_Rox, just pull off and let him go. Get the hell away from him."_

"Okay."

I could hear the nerves in his voice the same as mine, and I slowly eased toward the shoulder of the mountain road where there was a parking area for tourist photo ops. But as I felt my car drift away from the road a little, I watched the blacked out SUV follow me down, slamming into my bumper a second time, even harder.

Mort could hear the crash from the speaker being on and shouted out, _"What's going on? I told you to get off the road!"_

"I did!" I yelled back, two hands steady but swerving slightly in the snow bank as I felt the SUV force my back bumper onto his front one as the truck shoved me through the parking lot. "He's following me…_shit_…he's pushing my car!"

"_Speed up and get away!"_

"I can't…the roads' too wet…"

And it was the moment I said it, the one single moment I even could concentrate on what was going on, that I felt the entire body of my car slide in a spindle like movement through the snow. The truck behind me had hit its gas suddenly, just enough to force mine into a spinning 360 toward the iced and rocky border of the road. I don't think I said any words as this was happening, I just kept screaming, and hearing Mort yelling out at me, begging me to stop the car that I could barely even feel anymore. It was as if it had a mind of its own, drifting far and sliding until I watched the front end crash into a high rift of snow.

That's when I felt like I was flying. I was flying. The car too.

In a side jolt, the entire car turned over and back into the middle of the icy road, and even then didn't stop until it had slid clear across the curve to the other side, the sound of the metal roof scraping on slick pavement blaring in my ears. I kept screaming even after the phone line went dead, even after all of the shattered glass of the windows around me covered my eyes and skin in a blur. I kept screaming even after I realized I couldn't move and that four large tires were screeching away from me on the ice.

And when I couldn't scream anymore, I thought of Max and Maddie, and cried for the third time that day until I closed my eyes against the pain.


	6. Beauty in the Breakdown

**Chapter 5: Beauty in the Breakdown**

I hate hospitals. No one wants to tell you anything, ever. They claim they are 'working on it', or that they need you to 'fill out paperwork', 'take a seat', 'wait for the doctor.'

My wife and my whole world were resting on the thinnest wire imaginable and all they could do was tell me to wait. I had driven at maximum speed, on icy roads and in the snow to get to Black Creek Road, only to find a twisted heap of metal that had once been a Nissan and ambulance lights moving away down the mountain. I fought, screaming with a couple of the leftover officers, who just pushed me back into my car out of traffic and sent me here, to this godforsaken place they call an emergency room.

And here I stand, begging for information about what could be the dying mother to my children, and they all pass me by with half-knowing gazes.

"Hey, excuse me," I grab hold of a young kid who must be an orderly, "Do you know if there's a younger woman down one of these halls, brown hair, she was in a car wreck?"

"Uhm…" he doesn't look like he knows but then he asks, "What's the name?"

"Rainey."

"Oh," he smiles fiercely past the pot-break I can smell in his messy hair. "Yeah man, yeah. There's a Rainey down in room 304, that way. Is she your wife?"

His eyes brightened as he nudges me knowingly.

"Yeah, she is. Why?"

He nods approvingly with a wink. "Cause' she's _hot_. Nice job, man."

Stoner college transporter or not, I know he's damn right and I smile wide with a pat on his back.

"Thanks kid, I owe you one."

I doubt he'll hold me to the promise, but I assure him with another pat and then dart off down the long hallway toward 304, my iced boots sliding on the tile floor as I hear a few nurses shouting for me to stop. But I'm gone around the corner before anyone can quit my advances.

"_299…300…301…302…303_…"

I mumble quickly as I look from door to door, inching closer every second. I make it to the last door on the right, 304, and come to a screeching halt when a man comes sliding out, white coat and all. He looks up, I nod anxiously and I know he knows just who I am.

"Mr. Rainey?"

"Yes. Is…" I try to look inside of the window past him but can't see much of anything. "…is my wife in there? Is she alright?"

"She's doing well, yes."

In a flash, a heartbeat, I think of another. "What about the baby? Is the baby alright?"

He assures me well. "The baby is perfectly fine, sir. Roxanne landed on her back inside of the damaged car, which prevented anything worse from happening."

"Can I see her?"

He shuffles a little, grasps his clipboard tighter and glances back through the window of the room before bringing his tired, aged eyes back to me.

"I think that might be good for her actually." I breathe out and thank him. "She's been extremely lucky Mr. Rainey. Scrapes here and there, bruising on two of her ribs from what I can see so far. We're going to run some tests in a few minutes though."

"Is she awake?"

"She's been dozing on and off, but you're welcome to go ahead in. I'll come back when we're ready for the x-rays."

His hand drops in a pat to my shoulder then, showing me the way toward the door and I catch my breath before going inside. Save for the dripping, the room is quiet, it's peaceful in a strange way, and Roxanne looks as helpless and lost and altogether beautiful as ever before.

I come around to the window side of the bed, where snow flurries hit the glass and make me shiver from the cold. She's asleep and the doctor meant what he said about the cuts and bruises. Her arms are covered in tiny nicks, her neck has a long scrape, and there's a deep gash above her left eyebrow half covered by a bandage.

I can feel tears stinging my eyes for the first time since I saw the crushed metal wrapped around the mountainside boulders. I want to breathe but fear what sort of strange noises will come out if I try anything but sitting; so I fall down and watch her sleep. I think about the last time she was in the hospital delivering the twins, how perfect that day was, and how it had gone off without a single hitch. And then I think about the time before it, when she wound up in the hospital on St. Thomas, hooked to an IV for a week.

I blamed myself alone for that time still, as much as for this one.

My knee shakes watching the beeping monitors and not completely knowing what they mean, and I reach out to softly move my hand over hers, feeling the tape and needle in her skin tug a little under my movement as I drop my face into my free hand. The tears burn but not as badly as my heart does. It feels like it's on fire, or worse, completely dead.

A few moments pass and there's a shifting sound. I look up to see fluttering eyelids and parched lips prying open.

Roxanne coughs and I'm at my feet, grasping her hand and brushing her hair as I lean over.

"_M-Mort_…"

Her voice is weak, disturbingly weak and it nearly kills me.

"Shhh, I'm here. Relax baby, I'm here now."

I kiss the warm skin above her cut, hold her close under me without hurting her further, and try to soothe everything that I feel and I assume she is feeling. The trance of cure is broken though, by nothing more than the one thing that warms me most in life, her laugh. My brow twists in confusion and I glance down to see her looking up and giggling.

"Mort, I'm okay. I'm good, look at me."

With a gulp I fall back down to my chair, concerned for how she's acting.

"I'm not dead yet. You can't get rid of me that easy."

"I've just been so worried."

I try to brush away my tears but see her reach out instead and touch my cheek, pushing away the wetness. She smiles and I know she's well somehow, despite what she's been through, despite the condition I'd seen the car in on the way here. She is my Christmas miracle.

"I promise I'm all in one piece still. And the baby is going to be okay too."

She keeps grinning and easing my mind as I squeeze her hand hard, leaving a trail of kisses up her arm in desperation, just to feel and cling to her.

"The doctor said you had a couple of bruised ribs."

"They'll heal."

I lift the blanket a little and gently look under her hospital gown to see the smooth skin of her stomach, patchy with dark spots. My palm touches the place as she sighs and laughs out loud at me, "Ah. Cold hands buddy."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

I snatch my hand away and lay the blankets back down as she grabs my sweater and jacket, forcing me to come closer and look in her eyes. Her breath is warm on my lips and I can feel the life full in her, the green sparkling in her eyes, the honey of her skin glowing past all the cuts and exhaustion. And that's when she whispers to me.

"Nothing is going to take me away, I won't let it. The last thing I thought about was you and the kids. I can't lose you or leave you, Mort."

I brush her cheeks softly and nod.

"I'm so happy just to see you open your eyes." I kiss each of them softly. "I'm sorry this had to happen, I wish I knew who to take it out on."

"Nobody."

At this I disagree. "No, no. Someone intentionally did this to you. It wasn't an accident."

"But it doesn't matter." Her smile brightens. "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve and I'm going to walk away with a few cuts, no big deal. Everything is fine, honey. Let it go."

"Roxanne, its more than that, it's--"

She covers my mouth with her hand. "Sh. Stop."

I lower my gaze and accept.

"You love me right?"

My eyes roll in obvious agreement and she grins.

"That's what I thought. So please let's forget about the car and the accident and all of it. I only want to think about you and Max and Madeline, and Christmas. Okay, please?"

Her fingers trail away from my lips with hopeful eyes and I know I'm sold for the look.

"Okay. I promise. It's dropped."

"Thank you. Now…" she grasps my shirt and tugs me down over her bed again, giggling. "…what do you say you come up with a plot to spring me from this bed?"

It's that, her insistence for nothing more than the finer, fun things in life that makes me finally begin to laugh. I move down and kiss her hard; forced harder by her own tug of my hair and the desperation I can taste and feel on her lips. She's done it again, making me forget all the shit to find only the peace in a bad situation. She is my sunlight in the middle of an ice storm, my smile when everyone else including me is frowning and in fear, and she is the only person in this world that I trust to any extent to make me the happiest man the same.


	7. I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Chapter 6: I****'****ll Be Home for Christmas**

I didn't know who had tried to kill me, and to be quite honest, I didn't particularly care at the moment. There were too many other things to think about, like our family being in town and worried to their own graves, and Christmas and the kids and all the stuff that came with trying to be a good hostess and mother and wife without concerning myself with a car accident on top of it.

I was fine, more than fine, I was great by the time they let me out of the hospital the next afternoon. Mort, as usual, wasn't sure I was ready to leave and begged me to have more tests done, but a roll of my eyes and a doctor's good word solved that quick. I wasn't about to be pinned to that cold, sterilized bed on Christmas Eve, not when there were a million things to do at home. Although, I guess I didn't figure into the equation of my situation that I wouldn't be allowed to do much of anything once I got back there.

We weren't even halfway up the driveway before a storm of people came rushing out of the house and into the snow, arms wide and tears on their faces. Mort's mother and my parents had come to the hospital the night before to see me when they finally got word of what had happened, and while my dad had pummeled through doctors and surrounding cops on the case for answers, my mother and Mort's somehow strangely came to agree that all that was important was my being okay. From Mort's mother I expected no less, but from my own, I was shocked.

And when I saw her coming out of the house, toward the parked car with arms open and swarming me, I didn't know what to make of it all. She hadn't even come to the hospital to see me when we were nearly killed in St. Thomas five years before, and now, from out of nowhere, she wanted to be my guardian angel; she wanted to be my _mother_ for once.

"Roxanne, I'm so glad they let you out of that place. It would have been awful for you to be stuck in there on Christmas Eve, sweetheart."

_Sweetheart, sympathy, is this a joke? April fools isn't for another four months. _

She stroked my hair and helped me down from the Explorer, clinging to my arm as the rest of the family came in to hug me, kiss me and cry for me one by one. Even Mort's Olympic sized brother left tears on my sweater when he came to me with Max in one strong arm and Madeline in the other. But then again, my tough exterior melted when I saw them too.

"Mommy! You're back!"

Maddie flew from her uncle's arms and latched onto my neck, and I hugged her tiny body just as hard. One day and one night away from them and the potential risk of it all couldn't stop me from crying desperately and pleadingly all the same. Max reached out and somehow, even in my half medicated, weakened state, I managed to hold him just as strongly.

I didn't leave that spot in the driveway for what felt like years. I stood there in the drifting snow, squeezing them until they laughed past their fear and until I felt Mort come in and wrap his arms around all of us, completely. He kissed the top of each of their unruly heads and then leaned between them to capture my lips. And because my tears had subsided minutes before and dried with the cold, I knew it was his tears I was feeling on my cheeks, and that was enough to kill me.

Mort was tough, he didn't cry unless there was an absolute need to reveal himself to anyone. And I guess he felt the need, which only made me happier.

"Alright minions," he chanted as he snagged Max in his arms to relieve me, "Let's go get Christmas Eve baths for Mommy!"

I laughed and hobbled inside behind him with Maddie. Max argued against the bath but eventually gave in when Mort threatened him with no presents. And because he refused to let me do the hard work of giving the baths or dressing them, I was left to do nothing but sit and brush wet hair when he was done.

"I can do this stuff you know, I'm not a paraplegic."

He laughed as he tried to pull Max's little head through his holiday sweater vest.

"Just take it easy for a few days, that's all I'm asking. You can't be superwoman all the time."

I rolled my eyes, something he was more than used to and snapped a few red sparkly clips into Maddie's hair, whispering under my breath, "Wanna bet."

Whether he heard me or not didn't matter much. We finished with the kids and then went upstairs to get cleaned ourselves, but our disagreement didn't quite end. He insisted I relax in the tub and let him bathe me, and while the offer would have been tempting under romantic circumstances, his shattered faith in my ability to help myself was just annoying.

"I can do it, Mort." I pushed his hands away from the buttons on a shirt of his that I was wearing. "Just stop, this is ridiculous. I told you I'm fine."

He sighed and crossed his arms as he watched me get undressed in the bathroom.

"Why won't you let me be a concerned husband for once? I mean come on Rox, you were just in an accident that totaled the car. Someone out there tried to hurt you, tried to kill you."

"So what? I was a companion to the mafia at one point too. You should be more than used to the risks that come with me by now."

"What are you saying? You don't think it was--"

I growled to cut him off and slipped through the shower door. He followed me though and watched as I turned the water on angrily.

"Baby, I know what I promised in the hospital but I'm not willing to let it go."

I ignored him and undid the bandage around my ribs. He kept talking but slid into the shower with his clothes on, getting wet from the mist to stop my rigid hands and use his gentler ones to finish taking it off.

"I want to know that we're safe here and that this isn't going to end up like it did last time. We can't let it get that far this time, you know that. It's not just us in the middle anymore."

"Yeah…" I breathed shallowly and leaned against the cool tile wall looking up at him, "I know."

"I'm not going to rest until I know what the hell happened out there."

"Yeah." I moved my face under the water and relaxed into its warmth. "I know that _too_."

Mort's hands reached my skin a second later and he stroked lightly over my scrapes and bruised stomach. I could tell by the way he touched me that he was scared, more than me and only half as good as I was at hiding it. I wanted to give in and help lead his warpath to solve the mystery of my stalker and near murderer, but I had too much else to worry about.

He began pulling his clothes off slowly and I watched through the steam and water. For all of his determination to be Nancy Drew, he was still the most charming thing I'd ever seen before, the most beautiful. I didn't know who tried to take me from him, but whoever they were, they hadn't won just yet. He was still mine and he was still ready to fight for me too.

A moment later he was inside of the shower, his bare skin holding mine to the stone tile wall, his hands pinning mine up and his lips covering every inch of my mouth and jaw. His kisses were like vicodin, or better yet, like oxygen. I hadn't breathed so easily in twenty-four hours, not until he had me there like that. It might have been snowing and fifteen degrees outside of the bathroom window, but inside, where his solid manhood pressed into my longing body, it was a hundred degrees and rising quick.

I ran my hands through his messy tangle of wet hair as he lifted me carefully to wrap one of my legs around his waist. I couldn't feel the pain in my ribs anymore. Sure I knew it was there, but it was nothing in comparison to how he felt pushing towards me, his teeth nipping at the skin of my neck and his hands slowly sliding down to the core of my aching form.

"God, I love you so much." He whispered against my trembling lips.

I smiled and kissed him quick. "I bet I love you more."

His cock rocked at my center as his fingers massaged it, one or the other ready to drive within.

"No way." He teased. "I get to love you _plus _one." His hand rubbed my bruised stomach smoothly as the tip of his shaft came nearer to entrance. "I definitely win."

And at that, when I wasn't half expecting it from his hand through my hair and his lips on my mouth, he broke down the only barrier left between us and held me tight as the waves of throbbing turned to ones of complete rapture.

* * *

We eventually made it down to the family and dinner. _Eventually_.

Mort's mom had refused earlier to let me do a single stitch of leg work in the kitchen and so by the time we came downstairs to the dining room, the table was spread with candles, my grandmother's good china splayed with the most delicious smells and foods, and all of it without my doing. It actually felt nice to not be the live in, personal chef for once.

I smiled curiously when she came to me with a glass of wine.

Mort tried to lift it away from me, but his mother slapped his hand.

"Stop that. It's perfectly good for her. I read an article about it in the New York Times today."

He rolled his eyes and mumbled something about _'crossword murdering bastards'_ as he walked away. I knew how he hated the Times and laughed as his mom brushed my damp hair back.

"They said a glass of wine every week is healthy for the baby. It reduces the risk of all kinds of mental disorders."

My eyes gaped with surprise and I took a sip of the red liquid. I have to admit, it tasted good after going three weeks without any. His mom threw a towel over her shoulder in a way that reminded me so much of my grandmother, and leaned in to whisper, "Maybe it will reduce that poor baby's risk of becoming a worry wart like it's father."

I laughed and when she headed back to the stove. I stood with her in the kitchen, watching as she stirred through a pot of gravy and finished with the last of the details to the meal. I wasn't expecting it at all, but after a few minutes my mother came into the kitchen and stood smiling beside me at the countertop. She rubbed my back and brushed through my hair and I can't tell you how much it scared me. Mort looked at me oddly all the way across the living room and grinned almost knowingly for a second, then turned away laughing with Max in his arms.

My focus returned to my mother's voice.

"Honey, I'm so happy you're alright after yesterday. I don't know what I would do if something ever happened to you."

I twisted my brow at her as she caught herself.

"Of course I know worse things did happen a few years ago, and I suppose I was very terrible to you then. I was very condescending of your relationship and your choice."

"Yeah." I stated flatly as I looked from Mort's mom to mine. "You were."

She nodded with her face turned down low. "And I'm sorry for that, sweetie. I am. It's just…"

"What?"

"I always imagined you marrying someone closer to the circle your father and I are surrounded by. Not a writer."

Mort's mom smiled a little when her ears perked up. My mom defended her words though.

"Oh, Jane I apologize for that. I didn't mean it so harshly."

"It's perfectly fine, Annie. I think if I had a daughter I would feel the same way."

"But of course, Morton is a gentleman and a good father. I misjudged him all along, Roxanne."

I just looked at her, not sure where all of this was suddenly coming from.

"I guess what I'm trying to say honey, is that even though your father gives you a hard time about finances and your lifestyle, we are very happy that you're happy here with your family, this way."

"You are?"

"Yes."

"And what? There's got to be more."

She shook her head.

"Really? That's it?"

"I love you, Roxanne. Yesterday made me realize how wrong I've been for so many years. I've never seen a man run so fast in my entire life."

"Mort?" I questioned with a wild grin and a tear as I looked past her shoulder at him in the living room again.

"I can see now why you wanted him, why you chose him. He really cares about you so much."

Mort glanced from Maddie's chocolate covered face to wink at me with that half smile of his.

"I'm surprised you don't have to fight the women in this town off tooth and nail."

I laughed for the first time with mother in what must have been a decade. Looking down at her smaller form again I wasted no time in wrapping my arms around her and holding her as tight as I could. I didn't know why, but it felt too good to let go once I started. She felt like Gram and Grandpa, and all the memories of my strange but somehow good childhood. I knew she was holding me tighter than she'd probably ever imagined doing again and that felt equally as nice. I could smell her Chanel no.5 and the dry cleaning starch of her clothes and smiled before pulling back.

She rubbed my cheek softly and my stomach at the same time.

"I am excited about this new baby as well, you know."

"Me too."

"I never thought I'd see the day."

With a soft laugh she kissed me once on the cheek before Jane called for dinner and we parted. She followed my father to one end of the table and Mort snuck into the kitchen behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and biting my neck.

"Good talk?" He whispered in my hair.

I nodded with a wide smile and tilted my face back to his.

"_Finally_."

We sat down to dinner, all fourteen of us, and enjoyed every single joke and story and memory that was told to each other. We laughed for hours, finished off six bottles of wine (without much of my help), shared anecdotes about the kids, and reveled in the fact that we had finally, after all this time, on this perfect miracle evening, come together as one.

After dinner, I threatened Jane into letting me help her, Sydney and Kate with the dishes while Mort, Sam and Robert took all the kids into the living room and played Christmas songs on their guitars for them. It was something that I hadn't known he could do, play the guitar, until we were already married. It was one of the things that he had to hide when he became Mort Rainey, but now, because he had brought Ben Miller back from the dead too, he was able to swing a pretty wicked tune on that old acoustic Gibson.

My parents and Mort's dad worked on bringing down all of the 'hidden' presents, which obviously caused a commotion until we had finished cleaning up and joined them. We sat together, all of us crammed onto the sofas and chairs in front of the fireplace and huge tree, singing songs and watching the kids rip through some of their presents. And for once, I felt like I was officially home; I felt like this could be it, the tradition that most families dream of finding. My parents were happy and sympathetic to my life, my sister and her workaholic husband had managed to find each other again over the course of the week, Mort's parents were as spectacularly perfect as ever before and our kids and Sydney's were healthy and well. Things were good, so good in fact, that none of us expected the news that came out of nowhere a few hours into the mix of holiday excitement.

Sam stood up with his hand resting gently on Kate's shoulder, looked to all of us and proclaimed as proudly as I'd ever known Big Sam to be, "Mom, Dad, _nerdy, pain in the ass_ I call a brother…" Mort sneered and I squeezed his cheeks, "…Kate and I found out yesterday…"

Jane was on the edge of the couch nearly spilling her wine when he finally voiced the words she'd been waiting too long to hear.

"…we're having a baby!"

She jumped up with small splashes of wine hitting the rug and threw her arms around Sam's broad form.

"I knew it! I saw it the whole time!"

Mort groaned at the red droplets he knew he'd end up having to scrub later but I wrapped my arms around him to hush his irritation and kissed the scowl off his face. Sam and Kate took turns kissing and hugging everyone in the room over the exciting news, and I helped Jane ease herself into steady breathing again from her insistent giggling and crying.

"This is so perfect…" she replied happily, touching my cheek and then Kate's at her other side "…two babies growing at the same time. Now all I need is to hear that, Roxanne, your gorgeous sister over there is having one too. That would do me in."

I saw my mother's eyes widen at the remark but I looked over to Sydney myself. She smiled for a moment before standing up closer to me and Mort.

"Actually Jane," I could feel my heart stop, "Mom, Dad, Rox…"

"Oh no. You've got to be joking." I breathed deep and squeezed hard on Mort's leg, probably enough to make it go numb. But he laughed and held my hand tight.

"Would I joke about being pregnant too."

I felt the tears come to my eyes this time, not half expecting Kate and Sam's news, let alone the news that my older sister was having her third child after eight years. I flew from the couch, wincing at the pain in my ribs the whole time, and threw my arms around her, nearly taking her into the tree with me.

"Oh my god, this is so great. They're going to grow up together."

"I know, I know." She chanted back in my ear, the both of us too caught up to realize all of the other hugging and laughing and congratulations going about the room.

We pulled back and touched each other's stomachs with a teary eyed giggle and then pulled Kate into the mix. Mort and Sam went back to playing guitar and feeding the kids with as many presents as they wanted to rip open, while the three of us joined Jane and my mother to gab about everything babies. And of course, the already well worn grandfather's fell into their chairs and slept the rest of the night away.

After a while though, ritual set into place like it always had in any decent childhood, (whether Mort and I were the poster children or not), and we all started to say goodnight and put the kids to bed. Without a hitch, Max and Madeline refused to sleep in their rooms, since they insisted that Santa was going to land near our bedroom because it was closest North. Frankly I didn't know how they knew so much at their age, but I granted them brilliance with a solid argument and we took them to bed with us. For an hour, Mort and I stayed awake just to get them to fall asleep. They had zero no tolerance for closing their eyes on this night, and the battle was only finally won after I had read Rudolph three times.

The funny part being, that I had put Mort to sleep with it too. I tucked the kids into the middle of the bed between us and then slid across the cold floor to his side, took off his glasses, brushed his hair out of his eyes and just stared at him for a long time. There was something so peaceful about seeing him like that, out of control for once, unable to worry or concern his mind with the world that threatened us, and it made me the happiest.

I'm not sure when I caved in and fell into bed beside my little family, but I guess I must have eventually, because the next thing I knew, something loud was waking me back up to darkness. Madeline was tight in my arms but her eyes were slowly prying open with mine, hers brighter with excitement though.

"Santa! It's Santa!"

I thrust my body up completely, trying to squint out of the balcony doors to see where the noise was coming from. Not from our bedroom porch, but it was getting louder, like boots or hammers _inside_ of the house, not outside at all.

"He's here!"

Maddie screamed again and I covered her mouth instinctively, leaning across the bed to shake Mort awake. I swear, he could sleep through an apocalypse.

"Mort…Mort!"

He stirred awake slowly, pushing the mess of his hair away and wiping his drool to look up at me through blurred vision.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

I didn't have to say anything. The noise came again, much louder and getting closer to us. He shot awake completely, moving out of the bed and shoving his glasses on.

"What the fuck was that?" He whispered as he poked his head through the windows. Max woke up to the continuing sound too and shouted out.

"It's Santa, daddy! He came for his cookies!"

I covered Max's mouth and pulled him into my arms with Maddie. Mort flew toward my side of the bed, taking my face in his hands with his eyes on fire.

"Stay here. Don't move."

And before I could protest, he was gone through the door.


	8. Jigsaw Falling Into Place

**Chapter 7: Jigsaw Falling into Place**

_There was a gun in the coat closet, tucked into the breast pocket of his father's old 60's tweed pea coat. This pistol in particular, from the others stashed within the house, housed two bullets alone. One to wound an intruder and one to finish them off with, and Jansen was certainly ready for either to come. _

I left the bedroom and made sure the door was secure before quietly walking down the hall toward the linen cupboard near the guest room where Sam and Kate were. I opened it and reached onto the top shelf, underneath the stack of holiday tablecloths, to find the pistol that had gone unused for four years. The steel was cold in my hand but it warmed as soon as I heard more stomping, this time coming from somewhere outside on the porch.

I closed the cupboard door only to be unnerved by my brother's anxious presence behind it.

"Mort…"

"Jesus!" I yelled and began checking the gun for its two bullets. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry, man."

I shook my head, counted the bullets as they fell into my palm, and then reloaded it with a click.

"What are you gonna do with that thing?"

"Protection, that's all. I'm going out to check out that fucking noise."

"Not by yourself. I'm coming too."

"Oh what, are you going to use your bare hands on the guy?"

"No…" he deliberated in a whisper; then turned back into the guest room for a long minute. I stood at the balcony of the staircase, looking down into the living room below and trying to see out of the front door but I couldn't. A second later I heard a shuffle of feet to carpet behind me and saw Sam swing a fireplace poker at my side.

"Watch it will you?!"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Let's go."

"Let me go first. I'm twice your size."

I rolled my eyes with a growl and followed behind him down the stairs into the living room and attached foyer, the both of us standing clear to either side of the front door with our weapons raised and eyes peeled on the flashing red and white car lights from outside.

"Can you see what's going on?" I asked him half loudly.

"No. You?"

I shook my head and attempted moving back the curtain on the door a little, but to no avail.

"Screw this, I'm going out."

I began pulling on my boots and coat, near the rack at the door.

"Mort, come on. Just wait it out, man…it could be nothing."

I grabbed the door knob and held firmly to the trigger of my pistol.

"'_Nothing'_ doesn't wake people up at three in the morning on Christmas, Sam. I'm going."

The door slowly creaked open, a gust of chilled air blew inside and I pushed my weight out onto the front porch. The car lights were gone from sight and it was deadly silent outside on the snow covered drive. I could hear Sam sneaking out into the cold with me, the both of us moving carefully down either side of the house.

I wasn't even halfway around the corner to the mountain sloped end of the porch, when I heard spinning, anxious tires on the iced gravel. This sound, which made my feet stop, was then met with the agonizing sound of bullets shattering glass and deadly screams from the second story of the house, on the other side.

This made me run.

I knew the sound of those screams. I'd heard each of them before. And _one_, more times than I could barely stand knowing. There was no longer silence, just the hurried sounds of tires, gunfire, a jittery exhaust and worrisome voices above. By the time I made it around to the other side of the house, at the back of the drive toward the opposing slope and shed, I saw Sam coming at me. But he wasn't moving fast, he was limping.

"Sam!"

"Mort…man, they shot me in the leg."

I rushed to him and wrapped his large arm around my shoulders, helping him to limp back up the steps toward the porch again. Before I made it under the cover though, I glanced up to see the broken glass of the east window to my room, _our_ room, the room I'd left my whole world in for safety. I clenched my teeth, helped Sam onto one of the rocking chairs and ripped at a hole in my t-shirt until I could get a strip of material torn away. I tied it around the gush of blood coming from his flannel pants and then ran toward the front door of the house again, my hands painted crimson.

"Stay there, Sam! I'm going to get Dad!"

I knew my dad would be the best bet for him, since we both had heard the countless stories of his time spent as a medic in Vietnam our whole lives. I heard him wince out in pain the second I threw open the door to the house again. Inside though, it was equal madness. Kate was coming at the door with tears covering her face.

"I saw it from the window…Mort, where is he?!"

"Just around the left side of the porch. He got shot in the leg."

She darted away nervously through the front door, even though I tried to stop her, and I heard more screaming and crying back upstairs that called out to me. I turned back and my mother came at me in a flurry, pulling me up the stairs.

"Where's dad? Sam's hit."

"Oh know," I saw her start to tear up anxiously, "He's up here."

And then I remembered.

"Roxanne…the kids…"

I was breathing heavily and she tried to calm me down as I raced for the dearest life up the staircase, tumbling through the dark hall and back toward the bedroom. My wet boots hit the wood floor of the room as I shoved the door against the wall in a rush, and saw in a flash, someone flying deep into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. She pummeled me like I was the last thing of comfort on the face of the earth and together we fell down to the floor of the room in a heap.

"M-Mort…Mort they…the window…and…the kids…and…"

Between the choking breaths and tears, I listened to her account of the horror, rubbing her back and stroking her hair furiously as I looked over her shoulder from the floor, to see my mom holding onto Madeline and Max. I didn't see my dad and assumed he'd already run off to help Sam, for which I was grateful enough. But then, when the kids wriggled free of my mother's arms to come down and attack the both of us with fearful hugs and bawling I was all the more grateful.

I heard 'daddy's' and 'mommy's' until I went deaf from the terror surrounding me. I heard my name a million times in one ear, felt the skin in my neck being torn apart by clinging fingers left and right, and I couldn't deny any of it, not for the very life of me. Consumed in my arms was _life_.

Roxanne eventually took a deep breath and began speaking coherently again as she looked in my eyes.

"Mort, I don't want to stay here anymore."

I sighed, knowing I had just been thinking the exact same thing.

"It's too much now. It's the kids and everyone and--"

I cut her off with my hands on her cheeks, holding her face close to mine.

"I know, I know. Just relax; it's okay for right now."

"They might come back," she mumbled.

I shook my head at her. "They aren't coming back, not tonight sweetie."

"But _eventually_ they will…which is why we have to get out of here."

She sat curled in my lap, tugging anxiously at my coat, the tears falling down in waves to my shirt.

"_Please_…get us out of here."

I couldn't say no. I couldn't deny her the security she seemed desperate for. Same as me.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**(Roxanne)**

"Do I need boots, Mommy?"

I stared at Max blankly with his boots in hand, trying to figure out a good answer to the perfectly logical question: boots or no boots? Were we going somewhere it was snowing or not?

"Mommy, can I bring Ollie?"

I moved my eyes to see Maddie, holding her stuffed octopus in a chokehold up towards me from the floor. All I could do was nod as she squeezed him into the manic pile of clothes in her suitcase.

"You get to go with us, Ollie…" she petted his pink body and then began tearing through her closet again, barely managing to pull down shirts and scarves and shoes at her height.

I stood up from the small bed and went to help both of them, still in a daze, but functioning a little more normally when my hands were occupied. And then my always curious son asked the one question that brought me tumbling right back down again in confusion.

"Where are we going?"

He was innocent as ever, standing before me three feet shorter with eyes that glowed bright and wild. I knew those eyes so well, those were the eyes of question and inquisitiveness; Mort's.

"I'm not sure yet, honey."

I knelt back down to his level and brushed through his messy hair.

"What about our presents?"

"Yeah…" Maddie chided in agreement.

I turned back to her, then to Max again, and sighed. It was unfair for their Christmas to be spoiled over all of this insanity. It wasn't right. So, I made an executive decision to be Mom of the Year for a moment.

"Tell you what…I'll pack your bags. You guys go and open presents with Jake and Emily."

Their eyes grew spirited and their little feet pattered up and down on the wood floor in excitement as they raced each other for the door. They were gone down the hallway before I even managed to slump against the bed on the ground, my legs stretching between two suitcases.

I sat for a while there, thinking about a million things, wondering how Sam was holding up downstairs with the treatment Mort's dad was giving him on the kitchen table, and trying to figure out in my mind, just what the hell these people or person wanted from us this time. Part of me almost hoped it was someone attached to the Kline's. At least we knew how to survive them pretty well.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The room was an unbearable mess. The bullets that had flown through the window, left glass scattered from one end of the room to the other, on the dressers, all over the bed where I tried not to imagine Roxanne and the kids having been curled up beneath the line of fire, and especially all over the floor. I worked my way around to the place of impact at the window on the left side of the bed, my side. My boots crunched on glass as I stood sweeping it for what felt like forever.

But it was when I noticed a large, shadow of an object sitting at the low foot of the bed on the floor, that I stopped sweeping and knelt in the glass to reach for it. It was a rock, a huge one, and tied around its width was a wrinkled piece of paper.

"What the hell?"

I thought about what sort of damage that lone rock could have done if it had landed any higher or further to the right. And then I stopped myself because I was being paranoid and I ripped the paper from the stone, unfolding it carefully to see red pen scratched on it.

There were only three words. Names.

Roxanne Hayden. Maxwell Rainey. Madeline Rainey.

I felt my heart do a dying flip and then sink into the pit of my stomach. I gulped. I winced. I nearly cried but stopped myself when I heard soft footsteps coming in the doorway of the room. My reflexes worked to crumple the paper and out of instinct, I raised my head over the bed and struggled against the pain to say something of worth.

"Watch your bare feet. There's still some glass around."

Roxy paused in the doorway and looked at me and I think she knew something was wrong. Well, _more_ wrong.

"Are you okay?"

I nodded quickly and stood up again, tucking the paper in the back pocket of my jeans.

"What's that?" She asked as she wrapped herself tighter in her sweater against the cold sunrise that was just coming in from the broken window.

"It's nothing. Just a…" _think, fast, make something up_ "…a dollar I found under the bed."

_Dollar? Nice one, genius. _

She tiptoed around the bed until she found her slippers and put them on before coming toward me on the glassy side of the room. Her arms were crossed, almost suspiciously, but she just smiled and plopped down on the corner of the bed, tired and sick looking.

"The kids stuff is packed."

I was still trying to decide where we were going to run to, and now, with that note suddenly rotting my brain, those names, the names of my life, all the life I'd found and created, I was plotting in a completely different direction.

"They're opening presents."

I hummed a response of interest as I swept over the rest of the large pieces of glass.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're acting funny."

I looked up at her and gave a meek smile before finally, somehow, coming across the answer as I looked into her wonderfully, crisp green eyes.

"What's the plan, Mort?"

With a sigh, I swept the glass into the dust pan, emptied it into the trash can I'd brought into the room, and then turned back to her with a simple seriousness plastered on my face. I didn't answer her question with my response.

"I want you to make sure you pack your passport."

Her eyes widened at me, her jaw twisted downward and she shook her head in confusion.

"What?"

* * *

**Ashville Regional Airport – 8:20 am**

* * *

_Chicago…Flight 480…on time…departs at 8:40_

I stood holding onto my mother, the woman who'd saved the day completely with a simple yes. She was hugging me so tight I could hardly breathe, and I was glad for it for once. The words that my eyes scanned on the screen overhead as she tightened her hold on me were the details I'd remember for the rest of my life if this went badly, or if it worked the way I was hoping.

_We left them on Christmas Day, put them on a plane headed to Chicago and prayed it was right._

Is that how we would recall this moment years from now, months, days?

"You take care of Roxanne and that baby, do you hear me?"

I nodded against her shoulder and pulled back when she did, grabbing my face and pulling it to hers.

"Don't let anything happen to her. She's the most important thing right now, you hear?"

"Yeah, mom. I know. I promise."

She cried a little, hugged me again and kissed my cheek before letting my dad get his goodbye in. He grabbed me fiercely and hugged me like I'd never known he could, at least not since I was a kid.

"Make sure you call everyday and check in."

"Okay, dad."

"And wherever you end up, be careful. God knows who pulling this bullshit…"

"Yeah, we will. Don't worry."

He pounded my back hard when I did his and then I looked over to see the sight that let me high and dry without a warning at all. Roxanne was half crumpled to the floor with Madeline and Max in her lap, squeezing them for all they were worth and crying against their tiny heads as she kissed them multiple times. I walked over and knelt at her side, taking Max from her to sit in my lap.

"Mommy and I are going on a little trip and you guys are going on a little trip. Okay?"

Max nodded bravely but Maddie looked up at me from Roxy's shoulder with the biggest teary-eyed pout. It killed me, I'll admit it firmly.

"It's alright, sweetheart…" I rubbed her little chin as Roxanne continued to kiss her head, "We'll be back home before you know it."

Her lip quivered and a tiny tear fell before she buried her face in her mom's shoulder again, understandably.

"Where are we going?" Max finally chirped.

"Chicago, with Gram and Poppy."

"Is it cold there too?"

I laughed a little and rustled his hair, "It's way colder, buddy."

"Is it fun?"

I looked between my parents who chuckled a little to each other, then over at Roxanne who had caught my eye, and then back to him.

"It's really fun. They have huge boats that take you across the river. And the buildings almost reach the sky. And they have trains. Pop will take you for rides on the trains! Won't you Pop?"

My dad nodded wildly at him with a smile. "Sure will. We'll ride them all day, Max-a-million."

"See?"

His grin widened and he threw his arms around my neck as I stood swinging him around. Roxanne stood with Maddie too, clinging to her with jaw-tight arms and legs, not wanting to let go. I could hear her whispering to her and it broke what was left of my heart for the day.

"You'll love Chicago, Madeline. Gram will take you to all the pretty shops, and they have a doll store there too." Her wet little face poked out again at this mention, but she was still sniffling. "You'd like that wouldn't you? To see all the dolls in Chicago?"

She nodded tiredly, lack of sleep, full on distress and agony setting in fast. I heard a woman call for the boarding of their flight and quickly traded Max for Madeline with Roxanne. When my little girl was in my arms she was like the sweetest thing I'd ever held, the most delicate, and the most tender. She was always this, but this morning, under the circumstances life had thrown my way, it was even more apparent.

Maddie cried even more when I held her, holding onto me like I was the answer to all her fear and worry. And I was glad I was in some respect, but I had to let her go and it wasn't working. So I thought of something that I know only works with my daughter. She picked up this song on the radio, Jack Johnson, and it's become a strange sort of addiction for her. When it comes on, she dances, no matter where we are or what we're doing, my little girl dances to this song.

I tried to hum the sound of it in my head, tried to think of how it went.

"Hmm…hmm…it's as simple as something that nobody knows…and her eyes are as big as her _bubbly toes…"_ I heard her begin to giggle in my neck, the tears strangely drying with mock speed, "…when you move like a jellyfish, rhythm don't mean nothing…you go with the flow, you don't stop…" _and I don't know the words to this crazy ass song_, "…la da da da da da…."

When I saw her eyes meet mine, her bright sea green eyes like another set I'm so fond of, I smiled wide and she did too. I wiped her nose and tears like a good dad, I kissed her like the father that knows what he's losing for a while, and I walked her over to my dad before I became so much of a wreck that I couldn't focus on saving Roxanne and myself.

"Come to me, my little spider monkey…" my dad's Dracula voice resonated something even happier in her and she giggled out like mad when he took her in his arms. She adored him like most kids usually did.

"You guys are going to miss your flight. We'll let you go."

"Alright. We'll take care of these little booger monsters."

Maddie smiled quick as I kissed the top of her head and turned back to see Roxanne barely managing to hand Max over to my mom. I walked over and tried to help separate their limbs gently, taking Roxanne into my arms instead as my mom stepped away with Max.

"It's alright," I whispered in her ear, holding her in swarm from behind as we watched them head for the attendant's desk and then through the door to the boarding tunnel. "Everything's okay, they're going to be fine." She cried deep and waves of emotion rolled against me as her body shook.

I waved to my parents before they turned for good and was hurled back a second later when Roxanne spun in my arms to hide her face in my chest, wetting my shirt thoroughly. I held her like shackles to wrists, tight, so tight I feared I might break her weak form.

"We're never going to see them again…I just know it…"

The words spilling from between her sobs were the worst I'd heard in a long time.

"Don't say that, it's not true. They're going to be safe in Chicago."

"That's where Kline's men are though," she wailed into my arm like a child.

I granted her the point, but knew it couldn't have anything to do with this. It was the reason I sent the rest of our family home safely and the reason I was sending the kids to Chicago with my parents. Because our past with Kline has nothing to do with what was going on now, I just knew it. The note, the three names, they were of my wife and kids, but not me. If that was a list of people they were hunting, or warning, then there was a reason I wasn't on it. Kline's men were done searching to kill us. This was someone else, with a motive to do away with what I loved instead of my last breath.

Spinning around with her in my arms, I saw the large screen of departure flights at a distance and held her firmly as I walked towards it. She kept crying into my shoulder until I landed in front of the screen and pulled her face up gently to see too.

"Honey, look."

She did, but a little less than enthused.

"All these places to go, in the whole world."

She sighed and let her head fall to my arm again. "So?"

"So, pick one. Decide where we're running this time. You're good at that."

Her head rose a second time, her eyes narrowed up at mine and her mouth twisted awkwardly at me.

"Anywhere, Mort?"


	9. Take Me There

**Chapter 8: Take Me There

* * *

**

**Naples Capodichino Airport, Italy **

_December 26__th__ – 6:30 am_

* * *

"Siete sulla festa? Desiderate un automobile?"

_Automobile…I know I heard automobile. _I turned to look at Mort who was as confused as I was.

"Do you speak English, sir?"

The man sort of laughed at him with a scoff, then nodded wistfully.

"Americans, eh? Let me a-guess...la honeymoon?"

We laughed together then and shook our heads at him.

"No, no. Just a _vacation_."

It was a good lie and I showed my appreciation by wrapping my arms around Mort as he stood trying to negotiate the kind of car we could get of what was left.

"We have Toyota, sir."

We both quietly agreed to disagree.

"Mercedes?"

"No, please, anything but that."

Mort laughed at me and leaned over the counter further, trying to play the 'suave American in foreign lands' gig. I have to admit, he was pretty damn good.

"Do you have anything a little cooler, a little faster? Something more…_Italian_?"

The man looked between us with a coy grin, one that made his mustache twitch a little. I smiled as he began punching in keys on his computer left and right, his eyes peeled to the screen enthusiastically. And when he came across something of worth, his gaze shot up and he chuckled at us proudly.

"I have a-something here, what you're looking for," he turned the screen toward us, "Yes? You like, sir?"

We were both stunned at the photo of the car before us, and it only took a single moment to register to us what it was, as we both looked at each other with stammering smiles. We weren't spenders, we weren't big on wasting money as I'd tried to thoroughly explain to my father, but something about that car, something about where we were now, something about being on the edge of something terrifying made us agree to it.

A second later there was a set of keys being held up between us by the man.

"You taka-a Ferrari…Signor and Signora Americano?"

I bit my lip and Mort grabbed the keys then tossed his credit card down to the counter without another thought.

"Oh yeah, signore. We're _taking_."

* * *

_**Somewhere on the Amalfi coast…**_

* * *

The 1962, fire-apple red, Ferrari _Lusso Berlinetta Coupe_ was cool, sure. But the ride didn't last very long.

At the first narrow shoulder he could find on the coastal road from the airport, Mort pulled over. He jammed that poor old car into park, slid his hands from the wheel and had them all over me within seconds. I laughed out, moaned out with giggling because I hadn't expected it. Whatever had come over him was something I wasn't sure how to react to, not when I had left so much, thousands of miles away.

And yet the more buttons he unhooked, the faster I threw my inhibitions to the Italian breeze blowing in through the windows of the car and followed him into the back leather seat half undressed. It wasn't a big car at all, no more space in the back than an American sports car from the 60's, and this was proven by the puzzling blend we had to find ourselves in just to comfortably fit our bodies together the right way.

"Couldn't wait until we found a hotel?"

"Are you kidding? What's the fun of a vacation…" he somehow tore the hook of my bra with his teeth, "…if you can't vacate your life and do crazy shit?"

I sighed and ran my hands through his wild hair.

"This isn't a _vacation_, remember?"

"Well whatever it is, it's got me hot and bothered for my wife. I need you _now_…"

I pulled his white shirt from his head, letting my hands wander over the beads of sweat across his chest and back. He seemed to only grow more desperate at the touch and tugged at my jeans until they were in a pile on the floor with his. The only thing separating us was lace and cotton boxers, and like it or not, it was going to be what separated us for a while longer.

As he ground his stiff boxers into my opened thighs and nibbled at my neck, I tossed my head back onto the seat, just in time to see a set of eyes poking out from underneath of an old fedora from the driver's window of the car. I gasped as the man tapped on the glass a few times and shouted something foreign.

"Mort, stop…_stop_…look."

"State ostruendo la strada! Smetta di avere sesso sulla strada!"

Mort's face turned from my neck, his sex crazed hair half blocking his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at the man and started laughing at him. The Italian man outside wasn't satisfied and kept throwing his hands and body around with shouting until we shuffled to get dressed again.

"Good job, _Casanova_."

He pulled his jeans back and on and smirked at me from under his hair.

"Don't worry. I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

I just rolled my eyes and jumped back into the front seat, waiting for him to get situated behind the wheel again. The man banged on the window of the car as he rolled it down to apologize.

"Che cosa state facendo, voi imbrogliate? Non potete ostruire la strada, Americano!"

"Yeah, yeah, si, si signor. We were just having fun, man. We were…" Mort paused, glanced back at me, smiled oddly and then looked back up at the man out of the window, "…we're on our _honeymoon_, signor. Scusa, sorry."

As Mort turned the car on again, the older, tired man began to slowly smile down at us, especially at me. His eyes softened and he held his hand inside of the vehicle for a shake.

"No, scusa mi. Un honeymoon è un aspetto differente effettivamente! Wonderful!"

We couldn't understand how that one word here, made such a difference. But I laughed as Mort shook the man's hand, began pulling away and even waved him off at his beaten old Mercedes that was nearly tumbling into the ocean because of us. We were halfway back down the road to what I assumed was nowhere really, when I reached over and snatched the firm bulge hiding in the right side of his jeans. He growled and nearly ran off the road.

"Honeymoon? Now we're on our _honeymoon_, Mr. Rainey?"

He smiled wildly at me and moved one hand from the wheel to cover mine on his lap, trying to subdue what I was worsening in him for a while longer.

"We don't even have a place to stay yet. We have to find a hotel somewhere."

Again, all he did was smile, this time crookedly as he looked at me with a spark in his eye. I knew that look. I'd always known that look.

"What did you do?"

* * *

_**Somewhere in a village called Positano….**_

* * *

"Keep your eyes covered, don't open them."

"I'm not! Just tell me where we're going…"

I heard him laugh as the car skidded up what felt like another ramp, but built from crumbling stone. There were sounds of people and wind and water outside of windows, but I couldn't figure out where we might be, or be heading. So it was frustrating to say the least, sitting there beside him, my head nearly in my lap to keep from peeking, and my stomach churning from lack of sleep and the movement of the car.

"We're almost there I think."

"Well hurry up before I puke."

"Now that would be a story to take home. 'Oh yeah…it was beautiful and safe and Roxanne puked all over a vintage Ferrari…'"

I moved one hand away from my eyes to reach over and smack him in the leg, to which he chuckled out and I returned my palm to my wearied face, praying it would end soon. And thankfully, only brief seconds later, it did.

Mort eased the car into park, shifted around beside me for a minute and then jumped out and shut the driver's side door. I lifted my head, hands still covering my face and waited until I heard the door beside me open. He whispered something I didn't hear and then moved one of his hands over both of mine and carefully picked me up out of the car. I felt my feet land on a stone walk, just like I'd imagined, and stepped lightly as he walked me back around the car with my eyes still blinded.

"This is like déjà vu…"

He sighed humorously and held my waist as he turned me a little in another direction.

"You ready?"

"No," I mumbled back nervously.

"Well too bad. Open your eyes and look."

I shook my head and he did the honors instead of removing my hands from my face. It all happened very slowly, like in a movie, like it had the time before at the island cottage. I saw trees and the brightest flowers and crème staccato beyond his hands. I saw a tiled walk, and arched windows of stained glass, and I could hear the ocean as if I were standing in the middle of it. And that's when I heard his voice in my ear.

"How did I do this time?"

I wanted to laugh, thinking it was a joke. The villa he'd picked, the one he must have found the same way as before, sneakily, on his laptop in the airport when I wasn't paying attention, was like something out of a vacation catalog. It was like one of those Italian coastal villas you see on TV or read about in books, not something you'd expect to be standing in front of, with a husband who had already paid for its rental.

"Say something."

_Oh sure honey, let me just find the words that are stuck in the back of my throat and impossible to speak_. I stood there still, holding onto his arms like they were life support to keep me from fainting, analyzing the sheer beauty of the building itself, not wanting to tear my eyes away for a second. But eventually, when I didn't say anything and made him nervous enough, he reached for my hand and pulled me off in the other direction.

"Come with me."

I did, but only because there was no choice. I certainly wouldn't be able to walk on my own at this point. He walked me up the steps of the grand entranceway, unlocked the thick wooden arch that was the front door, and then dragged me all through the house, never stopping to worry about the furniture or paintings inside. I caught a glimpse or two of the stunning décor, but none of it mattered, not when we made it to the balcony of the first floor.

"You think the driveway is beautiful. Try this, babe."

My heels hit the soft blue stone behind him as I ran into his back, just glancing over his shoulders at the immense and matching blue I could see. Mort reached around and pulled my waist back into his hands, planting my feet in front of him instead, where he could steady my balance with his chin resting atop my head and his arms tight as we both looked out onto the same unreal view.

Spread like a painting between two plunging mountains, was nothing but the Mediterranean. Crystal indigo against a purple sunlit sky, and all of it reflecting off of the brightly colored roofs of the stacked villas and markets scattered upwards on the rocky hills. And there we were, right at the center of it, facing towards a horizon that was too far to reach and still felt close enough to swim in.

A scratchy record player was crooning somewhere nearby, allowing an Italian chorus to sprinkle out across the entire village. Everywhere people were busy, in the shops far below, running about on the distant beach, groups of women chattering in a close courtyard and men casting nets and boats out into the endless blue.

"We're standing in _Villa Bellissimo_…"

His Italian accent tickled in my ear and I smiled.

"_Bellissimo_. That's pretty."

Mort's fingers on my waist lifted away enough of my shirt to run softly against my skin, as he moved down to kiss the nape of my neck.

"It is. But I know something prettier."

Before I could let a tear roll from my eye, I shifted in his arms and leaned against the rail, looking up at him.

"I don't know how you manage to pull this stuff off without me knowing."

He just beamed proudly and kissed my nose.

"And as much as I don't want to think about why we're even here," his eyes turned down sadly when mine did and he nuzzled my face a little, "I'm glad we are. All by you're doing."

"I told you five years ago I'd keep you safe. I'll always keep you safe."

I nodded the sadness away and smiled into his cheek with a soft peck.

"I know that, and thank you."

He didn't say 'you're welcome', instead he took my face in his hands and kissed smoothly. I'd never known anything that could make me weaker, faster than his lips, especially in situations like these. I guess it had become a part of us, the running, the dodging trouble and mayhem. But I have to admit that it was fun, and it was probably fun because I whenever I had to run, it was with him.

His fingers brushed my cheeks as our mouths slowly parted.

"You look so tired," he whispered, "Why don't you go lie down?"

I shook my head, not ready to leave the view or him behind for sleep. But alas, fatherly Mort reared his commanding head.

"I am under strict orders from '_Midwife Jane'_ to take care of you and the baby." He rubbed my stomach through my shirt and I laughed, "Please, go take a nap. I'll worry about the bags and dinner."

I sighed, then yawned a little to prove his point and then kissed him once more before wandering back inside to find a bed. Of course, this would have been easier said than done if there weren't three different bedrooms to choose from, each of them as equally comfortable looking as the last. I finally just settled on the room with the best view, crashed onto the bed with my face slightly turned out of the large wooden doors leading to the balcony and the sea, and calmed myself into rest.

A million things tumbled around inside of my head; thoughts, images, memories, all of them leading up to where we were now. But above all else, I found myself thinking about that very first one.

"_Mine is Roxanne Hayden."_

"_Roxanne? Like the song…"_

"_Yeah, because you're like the 6 millionth person to point that out."_

In my mind I thought of the song. It had been a while since I'd actually heard it, although Mort still loved to tease me about it relentlessly.

'_Roxanne…you don't have to put on the red light…Roxanne.'_

"_So, what's yours?"_

"_My what?"_

"_Oops, I mean, your name."_

"_Mort Rainey."_

"_Rainey…? Like the writer?"_

"_Yeah, but he's not half as cool of a guy as that song you're named after."_

Before I fell asleep in tears, I begged my memory to differ that statement.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**(Mort)**

I got the bags out of the car. I met the locals next door, and thanked a higher power that they spoke English, mostly because I was tired of having to round up what little Italian I knew. I unpacked some of our stuff and did a rundown of the kitchen, which had some food but not much. I would have to take a serious run of the market down the street.

Before I left, I made sure every door, window and crack in the wall was padlocked and secure, and then I went upstairs to check on Roxanne. It had been almost an hour by the time I found her in the last room on the right of the long hallway. The door was open and the late afternoon sun covered the blue stucco walls and brown tiles. And then there she was, curled up in the middle of the large bed, shoes still on and her hair a mess in her face.

'_Ready to make a run for it, just in case…only my girl,' _I thought to myself as went and sat beside her.

She flinched a little under my touch as I brushed the hair out of her eyes and pulled each of her Converse sneakers off and threw them to the floor. Her hand reached out to take mine, her eyes still shut but her mind conscious of my being there, and I smiled.

"I'm going to the market for some food, okay?"

She nodded against the pillow and tucked my hand to her heart, like a teddy bear. But I pulled her cell phone out of my back pocket and traded my hand for it in her palm.

"Hey, promise me you'll call me if anything happens."

Again, just a faint nod. So I leaned down and kissed her forehead before tucking her legs under the blankets and leaving the room and the villa locked up safely. The walk to the market stands wasn't very long, and it gave me the chance to get a better feel for these insane roads, barely wide enough to fit two cars between buildings. The locals were as friendly as the ones next door, although most of them spoke in their native tongue and confused me thoroughly. I'd always wanted to come to Italy, to a little village like this, hideaway for a while and maybe right something different for a change, but I never had. Now, the one time I made it, it was to avoid danger in my own country and to save my own wife from being a victim to something I couldn't understand.

I didn't really want to understand either.

My thoughts were interrupted when a man shouted out at me from a vegetable cart, holding out the ripest tomatoes I'd ever seen before and smiling wide.

"Pomodoros, signore?"

I walked over and nodded, figuring I could cook from scratch since I was well past my peanut butter and Wonder bread days. All thanks to domestic family life I suppose.

"How a-many you wanting?"

_Oh thank God, more English. _I smiled and said, "A dozen should work. I also need some parsley and spinach."

He agreed profusely and began filling baskets with all of the things I pointed out to him, one ingredient after the other. He then gave me the reference of his buddy Antonio down the road who had all kinds of fresh flours and pastas, to which I thanked him and followed the directions, finding the small shop only minutes later.

I stumbled in with my baskets and caught the eye of a tiny man behind a stack of shelves.

"Ciao, signore. Dovete comprare la pasta?"

"Pasta, si."

I smiled at him as he showed off all sorts of different sizes and shapes and textures for what he'd made fresh that day. I assumed just go with a little bit of each he had and he nodded quickly and began wrapping them up. While I waited for him to work out the price, I wandered around his little shop, sniffing at some homemade candles in front window.

"Le candele sono per la vendita anche, signore."

I didn't understand what he'd shouted, but I nodded and dropped the cinnamon scented one again. From out of the window, across the street, I saw a stall that was covered in the most beautiful fresh sunflowers. I knew I would have to stop there too on my way back up the road.

"Quattordici euro, signor."

Turning back to the old fashioned register and the old fashioned Italian man, I had to think about it for a minute before I pulled the fourteen euro, plus a bit more for gratitude's sake from my wallet. Luckily I had converted quite a bit of cash in the airport earlier that day.

He was gracious over the tip and the sale and patted me on the back as he walked around and handed the bag of pasta, leading me to the doorway of his shop.

"Grazie, signor Americano!"

_I guess Americans are rare here…everyone just loves to remind that I am one…_I chuckled and waved him off before turning down the road again, towards the sunflower cart. I was amazed by these flowers, truly. They didn't grow that beautiful in the States, not so large or yellow or anything. And I knew a woman twice as beautiful as they were, somewhere up the hill that would die at the sight.

A wild and pudgy woman walked around to greet me with anxious, thick hands and a smile.

"Ciao, ciao uomo bello."

I looked at her funny as she pulled me down to her height and planted two messy kisses on my cheeks. Someone behind me giggled at the greeting and when the woman let me stand again, I glanced back to see a young woman peering over the flowers on the other side of the stall. She didn't say anything and the older, shorter, and much less attractive woman pulled me around, pointing to her best flowers on the cart.

"Desiderate comprare i fiori per qualcuno speciale? La vostra ragazza bella, no? Your girl?"

"Yes, for my girl. She loves sunflowers."

The woman understood perfectly and began tugging at the long stemmed yellow flowers. I could feel the young woman's eyes on me still and turned to catch her staring a few feet away, her lips pursed in some sort of interest and her dark hair half covering her face in what I took as embarrassment.

"Hello," I finally said kindly.

"Ciao."

Her whisper was almost familiar, as if she knew something more. And a second later, I knew what that something was.

"You look…" she began, "…like someone I've seen."

Her accent was sweetened by her innocence I think, but I tried not to pay it attention and smiled.

"Do I?"

"Si. Aren't you a writer? Americano?"

_Wonderful. I can't escape it even in a foreign village. _"Yes. My name is Mort Rainey."

I held out a hand to her and she shook graciously with a laugh.

"Yes. Mr. Rainey. You write the uh…" she paused, thinking a little before speaking again, "…what you Americans call, la horror? La mistero, mystery?"

"That's right, I do. Have you read them?"

"Some yes. They are good, bene'!"

She used a very traditional Italian signal for emphasis and kissed her fingers together. It made me chuckle.

"Thank you."

"Prego," she grinned again shyly, just in time for the older woman to come at me with a wrapped armful of sunflowers.

I tore my eyes from the girl for a moment to get my wallet out, "How much? Quanto?"

The woman just chuckled and patted my cheek.

"No pay. Gratuito, for your wife."

I guess she saw my ring, so I just thanked her immensely and turned with the flowers. I nodded goodbye to the girl as when I was only a few short feet back up the road again, I heard the same old woman shout out, "Fretta in su con quei fiori, Catalina!"

And then I turned back to see the young woman obeying the order of what must have been her mother, or probably grandmother. _Catalina _caught my eye one more time and smiled again, in a strange way, a curious way, and I gave another brief nod before returning to the house with my arms full.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"She's okay, mom. I've had her sleeping most of the afternoon. She was really tired."

**"_Good honey, make sure she gets enough rest. It will help reduce the morning sickness."_**

"Really?" I asked as I stirred some fresh parsley into the boiling pot of tomato sauce on the stove. "I didn't know that."

**"_Yes. It's a trick I learned when I was pregnant with you. Which is probably why you're the calm one of you and your brother."_**

I laughed a little and tasted the sauce. "How is Sam? Did he make it back okay after the hospital?"

**"_He's perfectly fine. They got in just a few hours ago. Doctor stitched his leg up wonderfully."_**

"That's good. Make sure you tell him I'm really sorry about all this."

I heard her sigh into the phone, probably shaking her head. _**"There's nothing to apologize for. Everyone is alright, and none of this is your fault."**_

"I know but still--"

**"_Still nothing. You just focus on keeping Roxanne safe. We've got everything else under control here."_**

"How are the kids? Are they around? Let me talk to them."

**"_They're having lots of fun already. Max is right here, hold on."_**

I moved the pot of spaghetti to the sink and strained it as the steam rose in my face. A second later, I heard Max.

**"_Daddy?!"_** It nearly broke my heart to hear him so happy.

"Hey little man. What are you up to?"

**"_Pop is letting me play with the trains. Your trains, daddy."_**

I smiled and leaned on the counter, thinking about the boxes and boxes of old trains me and my dad and Sam had put together all those years ago. I was glad the dust was coming off of them finally.

"That's good. Gram says you're having fun."

**"_Yep. Yep. Yep."_**

His chanting made me laugh and then I said, "Is your sister around? Let me say hi to Maddie."

**"**_**Okay."** _I could heard a shuffle on the other line, and then a shift of the phone in clumsy little hands.

**"_Daddy?"_**

There she was; my perfect little angel. Like the voice of heaven from a thousand miles away.

"Madeline, sweetie. How you doing?"

**"_Good."_**

She was the shy one, like me. Max and Sam were the wild beasts.

"Are you having a good time at Gram and Pop's?"

**"**_**A huh."** _

I stood dishing out pasta onto plates, with sauce and chicken.

"How's Ollie? Is he having fun?"

I hear a short laugh come from her, _**"Yes. He likes the big buildings."**_ And so, daddy makes headway.

"Oh yeah? Did you see the princess carriages yet, with the horses?"

**"_Grammy showed them to me. She said we can ride one tomorrow."_**

"That's great, sweetheart. I'm glad you're having fun. Mommy and I will be there really soon, I promise."

She cried a little but then stopped to ask innocently, _**"Where did you go?"**_

"Oh Maddie…" I said in the most enchanted tone possible, "We're all the way on the other side of the world. Honey, you wouldn't believe it. Mommy and I flew all the way to Italy. Do you know where Italy is?"

**"_With the spaghetti?"_**

I laughed and carried the two plates of spaghetti I'd made out onto the back, vine covered veranda of the villa, where the table was already set with candles, bread, wine and the sunflowers I'd bought.

"That's right, the spaghetti. You should get Gram to show you Italy on a map, so you can see just where we are. Okay?"

**"_Okay."_**

"And if you need us, we can fly back and get you at anytime. Alright? I promise."

She agreed softly.

"I miss you and love you so much, Maddie Bug."

She giggled through her crying, _**"Miss you too."**_

"Can you put Gram back on for me, and tell your brother I love him too?"

**"**_**A huh."** _

And just like that, she was gone and I was talking to my mother again, plenty heartbroken for one day.

**"_They'll be okay. They've just never been away from you guys before."_**

"Yeah. I know. This is the best thing right now."

**"_It is. You made the best choice for your family and they are grateful."_**

"I hope so."

She assured me for a moment longer, before we let each other go and I hung up the phone. When I did though, I looked up at the archway to the staircase, thinking I would go wake up Roxanne, but instead, found her leaning on the iron rail already, watching me.

I swear she'd never looked more beautiful. Even with her hair a mess, her tired eyes, her wrinkled blue jeans and bare feet after a much needed nap, and the fading scars on her forehead and chin from the accident. She was the whole world and then a whole lot more.

"How did you sleep?"

"Okay."

She reminded me so much of Madeline, the innocence in tire and agony, the short response to a much heavier question. I walked over to her, took her sullen face in my hands and kissed her forehead.

"I hope you're hungry, Signora Rainey."

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS**

* * *

1. "You are here visiting? You want an automobile?"

2. "You're obstructing the road! Stop having sex on the road!"

3. "You're holding everything up? You cannot obstruct the road, Americans!"

4. "No, excuse me. A honeymoon is a different matter entirely! Wonderful!"

5. "Tomatoes, sir?"

6. "Hello, sir. Have you come to buy pasta?"

7. "The candles are also for sale, sir."

8. "Fourteen euro."

9. "Hello, beautiful man."

10. "You wish to buy flowers for someone special? Your beautiful girl, no?"

11. "Hurry up with those flowers, Catalina!"


	10. The World

**Chapter 9: The World**

* * *

I just stood there looking up at him, only half awake enough to respond.

"Did you cook?"

"I did," he answered back proudly, taking my hand in his. "Come have a taste."

I followed behind him, watching as a few scattered candles came into sight through the French doors leading to a veranda I hadn't seen earlier. Mort walked me out and I saw the canopy of grape vines across the thatched tent above us, with small candle lanterns hanging down and the moon poking in through the tiny spaces in the leaves. There was a small table set to perfection, like something straight out of one of those _Home and Garden_ magazines I collected back at home. I wondered briefly as I smiled, if he had been reading them behind my back.

There was wine, more votives, lace tablecloths, the scent and sights of pasta everywhere, fresh bread and in the center, standing tall in a beautiful vase was a handful of the most incredible sunflowers I'd ever seen before. They didn't grow like that in North Carolina.

"_Sunflowers_…" I whispered with a teary grin.

He walked toward one of the chairs and sat down, pulling on my hips to gently seat me in his lap.

"So what do you th--?"

Before he could finish I responded by turning my face to his, wrapping my arm around his neck and forcing my lips down on his. He tasted like fresh tomatoes and wine and all good things Italian. I ravished the hell out of him, deepening the kiss and taking his mouth in surrender to my tongue and lips for what felt like eternity. And when eternity ended, I heard him chuckle against my mouth, holding me closer to him.

"Well that answers that I guess."

I didn't say anything, I just hugged his neck and kissed his entire face wildly, from chin to brow, brow to ears, and ears back to his mouth. I wasn't sure what had come over me, and I could only really attribute it to jet lag mixed with fear blended finally with the intense protection I felt over him, since he was all I had left on this insane run.

"I missed you," I murmured against his cheek.

"I was right here the whole time, Rox."

"I know." I slipped my hand into the opening in his white collared shirt, moved my lips down to kiss along his neck, while my fingers played on the skin of his stomach beneath the cotton. "I mean, I missed you while I was sleeping. I wanted you. I _needed_ you…"

I felt the bulge in his pants growing under where I sat and smiled against his neck. I knew how much hearing, _'I need you'_, killed him and got right under every bit of his skin.

"I'm glad to hear it, but you _really_ _need_ to eat something."

I moved back and looked in his eyes with a gentle nod.

"Good, here."

He reached out with his arms still around me and began shuffling with one of the plates of pasta, rolling the noodles and chicken against a spoon with a fork, in the traditional way of these lands. I loved that he was into this place; that it had gotten to him. He'd always told me how he wanted to go Italy, and how if I hadn't been _so_ pregnant when we got married that he would have taken me. So I was making it up to him now, only a _little_ less pregnant this time.

The fork came up with the food on it and he pressed it toward my lips as I ate it off, savoring in the sweetness of the white wine I could taste in the sauce. He had gotten better, I gave him that.

"How is it?"

I munched a few times and then swallowed with a grin.

"It's your best yet."

"Oh yeah? Well then, eat up."

He pushed the fork to me and I dove right in, too taken with the tastes to not consume it all. I was starving, for the food, for him, and I knew I would only get one with the other accomplished first. He held me in his lap as we chewed and laughed and talked about his adventures in the market. Mort told me about the conversation he had with his mother and the kids, and how they were doing just fine and were expecting a call from me in the morning their time. That, I have to admit, felt the best of all.

"Maddie asked me where we went."

"And what did you say?"

He smiled and wiped some sauce off of the corner of my mouth, sucking it off his thumb before replying, "I told her we flew all the way across the world to Italy. Then I asked her if she knew where that was, and she said it was where the spaghetti was."

With a laugh I ran my hands through his messy curls.

"I told her to find it on a map with Gram, so if she needed us, she'd know where we were."

After finishing a final mouthful of pasta, I leaned down and kissed his cheek softly, letting it linger on purpose.

"No one deserves to be a father more than you. You are their whole world, you know that?"

He shook his head a little and handed me a glass of white wine, per his mother's request of it, and then sipped at his own, as if ignoring the statement.

"I'm serious, Mort."

"I know. And I only have you to thank for it all." His face turned to mine as I brushed the hair from his fierce chestnut eyes. "I had nothing before you."

"That's not true. You had your writing, and your health, and Riley."

"Like I said. _Nothing_. At least in comparison to what I've got now." I sighed and held his neck tighter, caressing his shoulder under his shirt. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you or the kids. You hear me?"

"Yes."

"If I lost any one of you, I'd be done. That would be it for me."

"Ditto," I whispered into his ear as he hugged me close to him.

The dinner, although beautiful and well beyond delicious, came to a gentle close and I was glad for it. There was something else I needed, and I was sure he needed, than food alone could provide. Mort wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me up as he stood, and never let my feet hit the ground until we were back inside again. And even then he only let me walk on my own until he had turned off all the lights and blown out the candles.

I stood on the third step of the staircase, watching as he came through the darkness toward me. He reached out to take a quick hold of me as I laughed and wrapped my arms and legs around him.

"Bedtime, young lady."

"Bedtime my ass."

He carried me up the stairs carefully, as I clung to him like a child, and then he reached around and squeezed the ass of my jeans and I shrieked out.

"Yeah sure, that can come too."

Another flight of tiled steps, impossibly risky kissing in the process of walking, and Mort kicked open the door to the room I had spent most of the afternoon asleep in. He moved through and gently eased me down onto the bed, falling between my widened legs in the process.

"Now…those _needs_ you mentioned…"

He worked on the buttons of my shirt, revealing my black bra to the moonlight flowing in through the doors. I moved my hand to his, assisting with the last button and tore the shirt away to the floor. His eyes were lost beneath his mess of hair as I felt his lips and the tickling bristles of his chin and upper lip following the wetness his mouth left on my neck, and breasts and stomach.

A small moan slipped from between my lips and I gripped the sheets over my head, as he landed at the button of my jeans, tugging it open.

"God, do you know how ridiculously beautiful you are?"

I looked down at him from a side angle and rolled my eyes.

"Should be a damn crime…"

He laughed and went back to kissing whatever skin he could find, while facilitating the process of stripping my jeans down and off my feet to the floor below. I laid there under his hands and mouth, black lingerie, three weeks pregnant and absurdly in love with all of it. I was thinking about all the danger or the children somewhere miles and miles away from us, and I think it was probably what he was hoping to have happen. Mort was good at making everything bad disappear for a while.

I reached out and rustled his hair as he slid back up my body and knelt between my legs. Leaning up, I helped by unbuttoning and zipping his jeans, while he slipped out of his white shirt. He finished and I moved my hands to gently glide up his glowing, warm chest.

"This is what I have to fight to keep from other woman every day." I caught his eyes peering down at me humbly, "It's not an easy task, you know."

This time it was him rolling his eyes as he eased me back to the mattress with his lips hard on mine and the heat of his chest making my breasts peak desperately under him. The strain in his jeans made my back arch and hips buck toward him, and I reached around his low back to push away the denim and boxers that kept all of him from me. And once he was free of everything, he began pulling at the hook of my bra and the matching panties all in one extraordinary tug.

With a giggle, I fell to his power, ready to let him do what he always did best.

"Baby, it's no challenge." His mouth hovered over mine as his longing cock sat waiting hesitantly between my legs. Mort stroked back the hair from my forehead and kissed it as he whispered, "You won me fair and square a long time ago."

"Are you sure about that?"

He looked into my eyes as if I was insane for even asking the question, but I felt I had to, something was making me ask it, something in me that was uneasy and self conscious. I'd done the same thing the entire time I was pregnant with the twins. I was cognizant to everything that I could potentially have less appealing to him during that time, than another woman could.

"There is nothing surer. Stop worrying about all the other women out there. They've got nothing on you. I've got everything I need and want right here."

He rubbed my stomach lightly and kissed me with every bit of passion he must have built up in a week's worth of stress. I felt that. And then what I felt was the pressure of being what he desired broken to a million nothings as he gently lifted my leg and drove deep inside of me, like it was no feat at all, like putting the last two pieces of a puzzle together.

The grunt of his fervor met my steadfast moaning and we melted into one another completely, no different than before, except for the stroke of foreign yearning that had somehow snuck in. It left the both of us craving a satisfaction of quickness, of a pace we hadn't been at for years. And I swear on so many levels, that it felt like the first time again.

Mort held my hips as if the world might fall on top of us and I would be his only chance of survival, and I did the same as he thrust deeper and longer into me, pinching at the nerves in his shoulders and arms. Not that he didn't always feel good, because he was the only thing I ever wanted to feel like this for the rest of my life, but this was something else, something unexplainable perhaps.

His face fell to the crook of my clammy, sweating neck and I shuddered at the kiss he planted behind his strangulated and repetitive words, "You're my _whole_ world, you know that?"

I had said that to him, about the kids, about our family, and when he fed it back to me in the strongest throes of all that he was within me, I couldn't resist the urge to let the tears fall back from my eyes.

"Yes…I know that."

I moaned his name a half dozen times in a whisper, as my face fell to the bed, turned to look out at the balcony and the moon over the Mediterranean sea gulf. And when I'd become so transfixed on the movement of our bodies together, the way my back arched to meet the desperate beat of his hips, I was startled by the immediate touch of his length pressing down onto the driving force of everything in me.

I reached out to suddenly fly from the bed and wrap my arms around his neck, holding on tight as he slid in and out more steadily, the brink fast approaching in both of us.

"_Mort_..."

"I've got you," he sighed. And I believed him. I always did. "I love you so much…_Roxanne_…"

And then, on the cusp of my name, on the fluttering edge of all I was to him and him to me, it all went white and hot and blistering. I felt myself fall back to the bed, only to be covered idly by his body, keeping me warm against the pinnacle chill. Together we let the waves of pleasure wash over us with ease, with determination, until the room grew warm again and dark.

His arm was draped around my waist and I pulled it to me closer, leaving kisses as far as I could reach, and hugging his arm until I could breathe fairly. He held me, his chest burning my back as I looked out at the night view of a thousand stars from the room. It was nothing like the snow capped mountains at home, or the summer harvest moon that came. This place was just as magical but in an entirely opposing way, that it almost unnerved me.

At least until I felt his mustache brush against my cheek as he peered over at me.

"What's going on in that gorgeous head of yours? I gotta know."

His hands moved through my curls, down my back and over my hip under the sheet.

"A lot."

"Well, start with something."

I turned in his arms and nuzzled into his neck, trying to hide the fact that I was tearing up.

"It's nothing."

"A huh…" he tested as I felt his fingers lightly rub over the ink on my lower back.

"Sing me something."

I heard him laugh into my hair as he pulled me closer.

"_Please_, like you sing Maddie to sleep."

A short sigh came as he moved me down to the pillows, half hovering above me as he held my face in the palm of his hand firmly.

"What should I sing for you?"

I shrugged as he kissed away my tears.

"Hmm…" his eyes melted into the darkness of the room with deep thought as I traced over the tiny freckles on his shoulders, like stars in the sky, like connect the dots. "Okay," he finally responded, holding me close and still under him, "I've got one."

"Okay." I smiled and tangled my toes with his.

He crooned goofily, chirping and making wild noises to test his ability. And somewhere between the 'me me's' and 'mo's', I pinched his ass under the sheets and he released the lyrics at last.

**"_I could stay awake…just to hear you breathing,"_** he pressed his nose to my cheek as I giggled, knowing the song, knowing everything about what he was doing. **"_Watch you smile, while you are sleeping, while you're far away and dreaming_…"**

"Oh, Steven Tyler has nothing on you, honey."

He laughed a little and cupped my face to his, kissing softly up and down my temple as he sang.

**"_I could spend my life…in this sweet surrender. I could stay lost in this moment…forever…"_**

And when I least expected it, he managed to turn me over his arms, gently easing my face to the pillow as he kissed the length of my stinging back, lingering with lyrics and wet lip trails. I knew where he was headed and it made me relax with half closed eyes into the pillow as I sighed out the words he was weaving into a melody in the dark.

**"_I don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep 'cause I'd miss you baby…"_**

At the exact moment, I glanced over my shoulder to see his face hidden under a shady veil of his hair at my lower back, where I could feel his lips tracing over the outline of my tattoo, the one that with the passing years and with the burden of motherhood, had faded all the more and yet remained ever as worthy. It was still a favorite place for him I think, at least it's what I suspect from the countless times he's kissed it since he first discovered it.

Together we sang the last of the words as I saw his eyes lift to catch onto mine.

**"…_And_ _I don't wanna miss a thing."_**

Mort slid back to the bed beside me, drawing what felt like imaginary hearts on my exposed back in the moonlight from the balcony of our new faraway coast.

"My _Aerosmith_ girl. How'd I ever manage to find something like you in the woods?"

He kissed my shoulder blades as they protruded with the touch of his breath and I laughed.

"Let me see those eyes of yours," he begged as he turned my face over to his and smiled down at me. "_Crayola_ sea green. Never gets old."

I snuggled close and teased him by sniffing the clammy skin of his neck.

"_Cinnamon_," I looked up into his eyes as he rolled them, "Never gets old."

Then he cradled my head and rested it on his chest as we fell into peace in the cool Italian breeze. Before I was out completely though, I heard him still singing, as if he couldn't stop.

**"'_Cause_ _even when I dream of you…the sweetest dream will never do, I'd still miss you baby…"_**


	11. Can't Take My Eyes Off

**Chapter 10: Cant Take My Eyes Off **

* * *

"_How big are they, as tall as trees?"_

Words, a question. I felt the sun burning a hole in the back of my neck where I turned away from the balcony and the day and the voice.

"_Taller than trees…wow! That's tall. Can you see the river from your room?"_

My brow twisted and my legs stretched as I yawned myself into a drunken point blank of alertness. I turned over in the bed, searching out the mold I could hear. There were two legs, one perched upon the other, in that strange way she has of standing like a flamingo, at the sparkling edge of the distant balcony. I smile into the pillow, half watching and fully listening.

"_I know, sweetie. The boats are fun to ride on, make sure Grandpa takes you."_

She shifted legs and I adjusted to the brightness.

"_How's Ollie?"_

I scratched my face and sat up finally, covered less than modestly.

"_Aw, well tell him that it's just a short vacation and he'll be home in his bed before he knows it."_

I heard the double meaning and smiled. Ollie wasn't afraid of a bit of solo travelling, my little girl was.

"_I love you, Bug." _

I could hear the timid response that Madison would give in the back of my mind. Our coy child. And then, there was the spawn.

"_Let me talk to your brother, honey."_

_Maxwell_. Pirate, outlaw and bank robber. He never played the good guys, ever. And that's really what I loved most about him.

"_Max!" _

As I was saying…

Her voice gave it away early. _"Why would you do that!? Don't give your grandparents trouble."_

I laughed and started to dress as I heard the dwindling conversation that I could only half understand. I saw Roxanne move from side to side on the balcony a few times, but her face never revealed itself past her hair blowing in the breeze. It wasn't until I managed to find my glasses lost in the piles of clothes on the floor, that I heard the end of the phone call, the teary goodbye with a sniffle, and eventually, felt two arms leaning on me from my hunched position.

"Morning."

I pushed on my glasses, too lazy to worry about contacts, and stood straight to meet her.

"Morning," I kissed her nose and she grinned wide. "You smell good."

She looked at me kind of funny and moved the hair from my eyes.

"I smell like Italian food and sex."

"Like I said," I teased, leaning down closer to her face, "You smell good."

"Oh, well in that case…_grazi_."

I smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth, then her chin, and finally her nose again before I grabbed her hand and led her out of the bedroom, down the long hallway, and the stairs.

"So _your_ son has decided that carrying around and _firing_ his toy guns in the middle of Chicago is a good idea."

With a laugh, I pull her along still, trying to picture it.

"I know this has to be your doing."

She stared at me with a fierce grin as we walked toward the kitchen and stopped at the archway.

"Okay, I read him a couple of little stories about John Dillinger. So what? He's a boy."

Roxanne just shook her head at me, trying her damndest not to laugh. I know she wanted to.

"Do you know what he told his grandmother when he tried to gun down and kick a police officer on the street?" My brow turned up curiously, forcing myself to imagine it, my son, three foot two, taking down an inner city cop in Chicago.

"What?"

"He said that he was out to get revenge. He said he was public enemy number _two_."

At that was it, what made the both of us laugh out together. For a five year old, Max had a way of saying things, whether he understood half of them or not, that turned heads and made even the best of saints become sinners. _My kid, yeah, that sounds about right._

Finally, the laughter stopped and I asked, "Hungry?"

"Yeah," she replied, stumbling between me and the arch, blocking it. "But let's go out. Let's find a real Italian café or something. What do you say?"

"I think that's a gr--"

I was stopped from letting her know how brilliant an idea it was, by the ring of my cell phone on the kitchen counter. I moved past her to grab it and saw that it read, _Jack_.

"Who is it?"

The phone rang once more and I glanced back at her, "It's God."

She laughed and I answered it, for my publisher, friend, and the man who paid our bills.

"Hello."

**"_Hey Mort, didn't wake you guys did I?"_**

I watched as Roxanne slid through the kitchen, beginning to dig through cabinets for breakfast. I think she assumed that I would be a while and that any plans for a genuine Italian café meal, were doused.

"No, no. We were just debating going out for the day actually."

**"_Oh good, you can ship those next chapters to me."_**

I walked across to meet her before she could open the fridge door and I slammed it closed with a smile, shaking my head 'no' at her.

"Sure, man. I'll send them before noon while we're out this morning."

She stopped and leaned on the appliance under my gaze and body, just eyeing my conversation.

**"_That's great. The board's excited to read it."_**

"Good to hear. I do aim to _please_…"

The word barely escaped my lips when I felt Roxanne tug me toward her, the delicacy of her fingers suddenly lost somewhere inside of my jeans. And of course, all she could do was laugh at my crossed brow.

**"_How's the view from up there, buddy? That photo you sent was wild."_**

She squeezed my hardened flesh, pinching it in places and softening her touch in others as her mouth nibbled on my chin and jaw. I could hardly keep the phone to my ear or register the question being asked of me to answer. The pain, the pressure and smothering bliss of that one, single hand, undid me.

**"_Mort?"_**

"Huh? Oh…the view…" I looked square and deep into her eyes as she rubbed the flesh harder within the restricting denim, "It's uh…_beautiful_…" I sighed, holding her green eyes the same way she held my secluded, harrowing member in her tiny hand. Locked.

**"_Good, good. And how's little Miss Roxy Love doing? Did you tell her how much I loved that Buddy Holly editorial she 'donated' to the Stone this month?"_**

She could hear all of it while I could only maintain one syllable at a time, trying too desperately to control the sound of my grunting and gasping. Her thumb rubbed the salted, burning head of my cock as the rest of her fingers clenched tightly around it, pulling and pumping me ever closer to her and the refrigerator.

"I told her…she said you're still just trying to compliment your way into her pants."

Roxanne laughed, Jack laughed, and I was in agony, biting my lip to focus on ending the phone call.

**"_If I thought I could trust you not to turn into one of your characters and kill me, man, I just might try harder…"_**

I forced a chuckle, contained a cry for help and let that one word, _harder_, service my need to let go completely. I felt a warm rush of energy and wetness run down inside of my jeans a moment later, then fell against her, the appliance, and breathed heavily as she kissed me lightly.

**"_Anyway, I'll let you go ahead back to the trip. Thanks for sending that stuff bud, I appreciate it."_**

"No problem," I sighed.

**"_Keep me posted on the rest."_**

"I will."

Roxanne giggled against my lips, unapologetic for the state she'd put me in.

**"_Have fun and talk to you later."_**

"Thanks Jack. Later."

I hung up, fast. I threw the phone to the counter and pushed all of my weight against her again, pinning her.

"You're too easy," she laughed, "And besides, you were just _asking_ for morning _assistance_."

I shook my head, "Man oh man, I was warned about Rolling Stone's female journalists once…"

"Oh yeah?"

I nodded. "Cheap con artists, feisty, sneaky, _dirty_ whores, he said. _Don't _trust them and whatever you do…_don't_ let them get you naked and full of whiskey ale. _Your_ good story will be _theirs_ by sunrise."

"I guess you didn't listen very well."

I nipped at her bottom lip and kissed her hard, before breaking to respond.

"Yeah well, my source was a drunken bastard in a bar. So I ignored him."

She twisted her brow up at me as I moved away to zip up and button my jeans and headed for the front door, not saying another word but smiling to myself the whole way as she followed on my heels.

Finally, while she struggled to pull on her shoes, she asked, "_Which_ drunken bastard in a bar was this?"

I unlocked the door, tilted my head back with a wild grin and pulled it open.

"I think he said his name was Thompson."

From the corner of my eye I saw her jaw drop, heard a gasp and ran out the door before she could catch me laughing at her shocked growl.

"_What_?! Morton Rainey…"

* * *

To our misfortune, there was nowhere to ship or bind together the pages of Mort's edited chapters in Positano; although I suspected as much. One of the local fishermen on a back road through town told us that the drive to Naples was only a half hour and that we could find everything we needed there. This made me happy, mostly because I had hoped to take a trip to Naples while we were here. I hadn't been there since I was in college, for a two week trip with my art history class. A part of my life that had in many ways, gotten lost along the way to becoming a writer, a journalist, a mother and wife.

So we drove and Mort finally gave in and told me the entire story, start to end and every minute detail in between, of his adventures with Dr. Thompson in a Brooklyn bar. When I wasn't laughing, I was debating him on it. And when I wasn't debating him or laughing or talking, I was taking in the view from the passenger's side window. There were vineyards and fields of anther, lilac, and sunflowers as far as the eye could see, on either side. It was breathtaking, _literally _in my case.

"I'm glad you picked Italy. I had a feeling you might."

I turned to him, resting my head on the seatback and smiling.

"I wish it were under better circumstances though."

He frowned and I moved my palm to rest on his cheek as he drove into the outskirts of the city.

"We're safe. That's a good enough circumstance."

"Yeah, you're right," he took my hand in his and held it tightly the rest of the way into Naples.

After much difficulty, we found a clear parking spot on a narrow street in the darkest part of town, the part that was supposed to be harboring this binding and shipping store. We got out and walked for what felt like forever, hand in hand like the other obvious lovers in the city, and eventually found the tiny, derelict looking shop on a corner twelve blocks from the car.

"Sure that's it?"

Mort eyed the place with a thoughtful brow and then turned to me with a nod before he started pulling me toward the door. I hesitated though, not feeling up to standing around while he printed out and bound 100 pages of text.

"What's wrong? Not going in?"

"Actually, I think I might just keep walking around here. I saw a gallery back down the street I wanted to stop in."

He pouted a little, "You sure?"

I nodded with a smile and leaned in to kiss him quick but lovingly.

"Be careful."

"I will. Just call me when you're finished, I'll come back."

"Alright."

He kissed me once more on the forehead before turning for the store again. I started down the sidewalk, but could feel his eyes on me the entire time, two nervous wrecks burning me. I stopped halfway down the street and spun back with a grin and hands on my hips. Mort looked after me nervously for one more second, but agreed with a nod and wink to let me go and then he moved inside the shop door and out of sight.

I shook my head with a quiet snigger and began walking again, "Worry _Mort_."

The tapered street was filled from side to side with stands of flowers, fresh fruit, handmade cloths and jewelry of all kinds, and even a few different penny musicians. I dropped euro in each of their cases, a firm supporter of all things music from my dedicated years at RS, and continued on until I made it to the end of the road again, where the tiny gallery sat uninhabited and without guest. I thought maybe it was closed, until I saw a shadow moving around inside and went in.

It was everything that a subtle, street corner art gallery in Naples, Italy ought to be. Wood floors, scratched a bit but worn only to a fine age. Blank, stark walls of stucco, covered in rows of large canvases, and scattered studio lights overhead. It was cute, artsy, and very much the kind of thing I needed.

I began to slowly walk around the circular shape of the building, and eye each piece carefully. They were beautiful, too beautiful for words really. They captured life, wholesome, untainted life in this place. There were paintings of little girls on bikes, one of a young boy fishing on the Naples coast, and others of nude models in dark windows of apartments and bars.

_Incredible, _I thought to myself, covering my mouth with one gasp after the next. _So incredible. _

Very little could have torn me away from my steady movement down the first wall of art, very little, except a piece that even from the corner of my eye, drowned me in elegance and grace. I shot a glance back to the second wall, at the end, and almost half hidden behind a sheet falling from the ceiling where construction was taking place.

My brow twisted and my mouth grew dry with anticipation as I moved closer and lifted the cloth from my view to see the canvas in full.

"_Oh my gosh…"_ I murmured under my breath, jaw gaping and hands shaking with thrill.

The painting, almost as perfectly drawn as a camera would enhance a photograph, was a full blend of light and dark strokes, heavy and delicate, formed and unformed lines. The brush had created an image, which at first glance was a flower, at second was a coastline and the sun high above, and at a third, unwavering focus on the depth of the image, became something else entirely, something I couldn't really make out. It hurt so badly, to want to know and to not have an eye for it, at least from this angle.

I was usually good at recognizing art, especially difficult art. This angered me as I struggled on.

My concentration though, was again broken, this time by a soft and masculine voice.

"Ciao."

I turned my face up and over to see the rich, coffee eyes of a man, a much too handsome man.

"Hello."

He smiled from the corner of his mouth, in a way like Mort, but different.

"Drawn t' this one are ye?

I realized suddenly that he wasn't Italian. His accent was different, rawer. _Irish. _

"It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

"Really?" He acted surprised and leaned on the construction ladder that was nearby, eyeing me, then the painting, and then me again. "This one doesn't get attention very often. Good t' see it's made a friend."

I giggled shortly and re-focused back on the painting.

"You should buy it. Ye seem like an avid collector."

"Me? No…"

I slowly, timidly looked at him again.

"Only a longtime admirer of fine brush strokes."

His twisted smirk made my chest well up for some reason and I tried to ignore it.

"Besides," I choked out, "I wouldn't have the heart to take it away from its home."

The man looked at me kind of funny but smiled all the same.

"It fits in right here best, next to the others. I would feel too guilty moving it."

"Oh well, I'm sure t'would be just fine in th' company o' such a beautiful woman as yerself."

I gulped nervously and forced a grin before attempting to concentrate on the painting again and find the underlying message of it, the one I felt was there and I was still missing. I must have looked awfully intent on the task too, because a second later I felt a warm hand on my arm, leading me backwards carefully.

"Your lookin' too close there, lassie. The answer's right ere'…"

He planted me in a certain spot; one that I noticed was marked with scratches on the wood where he or other admirers must have stood at one too many points. This made me happy for some reason, even as this strange but beautiful man held onto my shoulders, brooding over me from behind.

A second later I felt his delicate hands, obviously artist's hands, tilt my head to the right a little.

"Just ere', like that. There ye go."

Then he carefully pulled back on my shoulders to make me lean ever so slightly.

"Don' worry, I got ye."

For whatever reason, I trusted him where he held me up from falling, especially when he finally whispered in my ear, "Now look at it. Tell me wot' ye see."

I did as I was asked, trying not to notice the rigid, musky scent of tobacco and Chianti on the man holding me. I tried to ignore the fact that he was gentle but strong, that his breath was warm on my neck and ear, and that his smile and eyes were haunting me already, and I couldn't even see them.

But I did re-examine the painting, and to tell the honest truth, I was in complete shock at what I discovered from this odd, stranger induced position in the gallery. There, five feet beyond and hanging at what appeared an angle from my head tilt, was the most magnificent piece of art I'd ever seen, _again_. Only this time, on its side and rounded out in a much different manner, it took on an entirely truer form.

"It's a woman…" I whispered with a childlike excitement.

"Tis'. Anything else?"

I eyed it more carefully, watching the movement of the brush trades on the papered canvas, following along the curvature of the woman, only to come to one lovely conclusion that nearly made me tear up.

"She's _pregnant_, isn't she?"

I could almost hear the smile of the man above me as he helped me to stand up straight on my own again.

"Yer right talented at that, ye know."

Catching his wide brown eyes again, I breathed out a giggle. "Thank you."

"No one's e'er come in ere' an seen that. They always miss th' child's weight in th' woman for some reason." He glanced over my shoulder at the painting again himself, a curious distortion in his brow, and then he found my eyes again, vividly. "How'd ye see it so well?"

"I'm not sure. I guess I just opened my eyes to it."

"Hm." He scratched the rough hairs on his chin and walked around me to examine it a little more, dumbfounded by my ability to read art. I wasn't sure if it was an uncommon thing on his corner or not, but it worried me that I was out of my league here. Thankfully, when he turned back to me, he was only smiling.

"I think ye should take it."

"I'm sorry," my mouth gaped, "What?"

"The painting. Seems t' have finally taken t' someone's eye. I've waited a long time fer it too. _Years_."

"I'm really not looking to buy art, I was just--"

He cut me off instantly, "It's not fer sale anymore. It's a gift, don't ye see."

I was shocked, to say the least. My hands trembled under his dark and mysterious gaze, pulling me in where I didn't think I wanted to go. _Be careful_, I heard Mort saying over and over in my head.

"I appreciate that, really I do, but I have no way of getting it home. I'm only here for on a short trip…"

I attempted to bargain with his kindness, but he continued to insist.

"I'd be more than glad t' ship it to ye, in America I presume?"

I nodded because he was right not because I wanted to take his painting free of charge.

"I really couldn't accept something you've worked so hard on. It deserves a high price."

He just looked down at me richly, luring me to accept.

"Ye don't understand, yer a price enough for me. My art as' to suit a person fairly before I'll let it leave ere'. An' you…" he gestured toward me with a step closer, "…you've been claimed by this one. I know it."

Part of me wanted to walk out, go back to the shop and find Mort. And another part of me wanted to stand there and beg the man to reconsider his choice to give away his talent for free. And still another part of me, wanted to accept the gesture, the reward for having merely stumbled into his gallery for a peek. All I could do though, was let myself sink into his eyes, like they were the rich waters of Ireland or something. I hated myself for it, but it was impossible to turn away.

At least I thought so, until I heard the ring of my cell phone come between us. The man laughed a little when I jumped to attention and I answered it when I saw it read **MORT**.

"Mort."

**"_Hey honey. I'm just finishing up, you still busy gawking at art?"_**

I shuddered at the mention and looked up to see the smiling Irish painter, taking down the large canvas.

"Yeah. I'm really into the work down here. You wouldn't mind going ahead to the post office while I check out the last few pieces, would you?"

_Good lie…liar. _

The tall man, with his chestnut hair pulled back in a short braid, moved to cover the painting in question with bubble wrap and I just rolled my eyes at this, as I heard Mort's response.

**"_No, baby, that's fine. Take your time. You want to meet me at that small café we saw near the post office when you're done?"_**

"Sure, that's sounds good. I won't be long."

**"_Alright. Be safe, there's weird people around here."_**

"_You're_ weird," I teased him as the painter caught my eyes from across his register counter.

**"_I am weird. It turns you on though, doesn't it?"_**

The man watched me, smiling now and again, and I finally divulged and responded into the phone.

"It does. Remember that for when you see me again."

Mort laughed, agreed and we hung up consecutively a moment later. I walked to the man at the counter across the shop, slowly easing my phone in my purse again.

"I'm sorry for that, it was my husband checking up on me."

"Ah, not an' art guy eh?"

"Sometimes he is." I smiled peaceably and took out my check book. "How much do I owe you for the painting?"

He shook his head at me fiercely, hands raised against it.

"No, no I told ye, it's a gift. An honest gift, from a _dishonest_ gypsy painter."

At this I laughed quietly and put my check book back, not wanting to one bit.

"I feel odd taking it from you, so suddenly. You don't even know me."

"I know ye were drawn t' this work like a fly t' electric light. I saw it th' moment ye walked in."

His eyes lit up when mine did at this statement, I knew he was right about that too.

"Can't I do anything to compensate you for it?"

A simple smirk spread across his face as he reached his hand out for mine. I placed it in his delicately, taken aback by how soft, how warm his was.

"Can I know yer name?"

"Roxanne," I answered with an accepting grin.

"_Roxanne_, like th' song?"

I had to giggle, it reminded me too much of the first time Mort and I had met, or anyone else in my life for that matter. But this was different, the man's Celtic accent, which was gingered with all of the places he seemed to have travelled to, made it all the more fascinating a question. No matter that I'd had to answer to it a million times before and no matter that I found it odd for him to know _The Police_.

"Not like the song. _Thankfully_."

He shook my hand further, lightly, very sensually, and took consideration of the answer with a brief chuckle.

"Well then, Miss Roxanne, _not_ like the song," I laughed a little more with a shy tilt of my head, "I'm Roux, so ye know wot' name t' expect when _this…_" he gestured down at the large wrapped canvas, proudly, "…shows up on yer front step."

"_Roux_. That's a very nice name."

"Thanks."

A single moment passed where nothing was said or thought or deliberated. He looked at me and I looked at him and some unwarranted, untouchable connection was made, from one artist, one thinker to another. It was powerful, but from what I could tell, not harmful at all. It was just, oddly wonderful.

And then it was over and he was pushing a pad of paper and pen toward me, asking for an address. I gave it to him, unable to say no anymore, and he very neatly folded the paper it was on and placed it into the front pocket of his beaten and paint covered shirt for genuine keeping.

"Well, I should probably get going before my husband thinks I've been stolen."

Roux laughed and nodded me on as he walked me to the doorway of his shop. I could feel his hand soft and easy on my lower back as I stepped down to the sidewalk again, gave him one last gesture of goodbye and then took off without a second look back. I'd already looked at him too much for one afternoon. I needed to get to Mort, I needed to see the one man who meant everything to me.

Even if he didn't particularly have an appreciation for good art.

This didn't matter, we needed to have our differences; it was what had made us strong in the first place. It was healthy for us to have time to ourselves, where we could explore things we liked separately, things that made us curious without the other one hovering close by in bore…

And yet, I spoke of this in my mind too soon. I turned the corner to where I remembered having seen the café in the car ride through town, and despite my excitement to get to him and enjoy a nice, airy lunch in the city of Naples with my husband I found something else, sitting in the seat that should have been saved for only _me_.


	12. More Like Her

**Chapter 11: More Like Her**

* * *

**"**_**You're weird."** _

I smiled as I passed by a stand of sunflowers on the way to the post office.

"I am weird. It turns you on though, doesn't it?"

Her response was delayed, so I attributed it to her concentration on a painting, something I'd never found very interesting at all, but I respected her brilliant eye with art and waited.

Finally, she said, _**"It does. Remember that for when you see me again."**_

She made it sound like that would be months. I grinned and turned the corner as our conversation slowly ended with gentle goodbye's, coming directly in front of the post office a second later. It didn't take long to ship the bound chapters of the book, and they promised it would be out of Naples and on a plane to New York before five o'clock, which I was especially grateful for.

I assumed, knowing my wife and her rare indulgence in fine art, that it would be a while. So I left the postal store and took a walk around the block I was already on, eyeing every stand of cloth, flora, jewels, trinkets and pirated DVD's I came across. It was an interesting market square, full of a different kind of life than the village we were staying in, and especially different from home life. There were gypsies here, bootleggers, sailors and farmers alike, all selling their goods and most likely their souls in the process. And yet, that was what was so beautiful about this corner of the world to me, and so suddenly too.

I had no intention of stopping or purchasing anything, until I saw something sparkle dangerously inside of the window to an antique shop at the next curve. My eyes followed my mind's turning, and with a clear view before me, I took in the spectacular little necklace perched in a case in the glass eyelet box. It was old, undoubtedly old, but magnificent, simple, beautiful and entirely too much like my wife not to go inside and make an inquiry.

I knew Roxanne, she didn't like gaudy, expensive jewelry, because she never wore it or asked for it. But this, especially when I got inside and had the shop owner lift it from its box in the window for me to see closer, was something special. He explained (in broken English thankfully) that it had been a piece he retrieved from a merchant sailor almost fifty years ago, on the coast of Sicily. The sailor had been gifted the necklace through the death of his wife, who had inherited it from her mother, and back three generations of Italians before it led to a single set of revolutionary lovers. It had been one of the first things to come to his antique store here, after it had sat in his wife's jewelry box, unworn, for thirty of those fifty years. And as he claimed, a thousand or more customers had asked to see it over the last twenty years, and never left with it on.

That was about to change.

The tiny oval locket settled in my palm, glowed with the sun outside, and I ran my finger over the engravings on the back and front, of a small bird and of a date and initials: _M.H.S. 8-1-1845. _

With or without knowing the full history behind it, the necklace had meant something to two lovers at one point in time, and that was where the connection grabbed me hard and made me thrown down plastic for the vintage, ancient silver.

"For a lover, eh signor?"

I smiled crookedly and tucked the necklace into the pocket of my coat before signing the receipt.

"My lover. My wife, yes."

He chuckled with his thick gut behind the counter and twisted his mustache goofily at me.

"A good gift, yes. You get-a something a-special tonight…"

"Ha, yeah if I play my cards right signore."

He nodded ferociously with a wild grin and waved me off when I stormed out of the shop to make it to the café before she finished at the gallery and beat me to it. Luckily, all of my hurried walking down the street paid off, because I made it to the restaurant a block back without a single sign of her. Hell, I even managed to get a table on the corner and in the middle of the cobblestone square facing the museum and fountain, place an order for a bottle of Chianti and look over the menu three times before finally realizing that I was a nervous wreck, like she always accused me of being.

I was fidgeting like I was on a first date, but not because I was anxious for myself, more so because it was taking her what felt like forever to show up. A hundred thoughts flew through my mind, all things involving our difficulties in the States and how those troubles might have now begun to manifest themselves here, where I thought it was safe.

I tapped my fingers on the table, sipped at the wine furiously and darted my eyes between distant buildings and streets, keeping a clear view of every possible direction she might come from. And in the middle of this chaos and the freakish storm my mind was rushing into, I felt a soft hand on my shoulder that calmed me, soothed me instantly, and I looked back with a contented smile.

But it wasn't my usual _contentment_ staring back down at me.

"Signore Rainey."

The eyes, the smile, the face were all familiar, and yet my stress refused to allow me to place them correctly.

"We met at the market in Positano, yesterday?"

I focused on the girl looking down at me, her blackened, soft curls framing her brown eyes and cherry lips. I knew then who it was, where I'd seen her, and why those eyes were suffocating me again.

"Yes, oh yes of course, I apologize. How are you, _Catalina_ right?"

"Yes, good. And you…" she stopped for a moment, examining my face as she slowly came to stand on the other side of the table, looking upon me, "…you look not so good."

"Oh, I'm just a little worried. My wife is taking forever and a day to meet me."

I watched her gaze turn to the streets, as if she were searching out a woman she'd never seen before, curious all of a sudden of who she might be and where. I looked too, but had to admit that I mostly did it to keep my eyes off of Catalina, this oddly tantalizing young woman.

"I don't see her."

I looked at her with a twisted brow, confused and anxious at her conclusion.

"You don't know what she looks like though."

"Well," she began, taking a seat across from me and leaning, watching the passer bys. "I know she must be the most beautiful woman in this market right now. And I see only ordinary women. You would not be married to an ordinary woman, Signore Rainey."

Her accent and words made me smile and calm a little more as I listened to her theory intently.

"The girl you love must have eyes that can be seen from a mile away, yes?"

I nodded, grinned.

"And she must surely have a smile like yours. One that makes people stop and stare?"

Shy and bashful, no so unlike my own daughter, I let my face hang low with a tight smirk at her compliment.

"Your wife must, how you Americans say, 'break hearts'?"

"Break hearts, yes." I replied, confused.

"She must make all the men in Naples green-eyed today. Envious of you. The way all Italian women are envious of her."

Her flattery was adorable, I'll give her that, but I was well beyond the point of flattery from any woman. It didn't work on me, the charm of it, the romanticism was petty in comparison to what I had going for me with my wife and kids and the home I'd built somewhere else. But it was entrancing for a short time, entertaining even, until Roxanne would show.

I sat and chatted with Catalina for what felt like forever, over the city of Naples, other places that I should visit, and especially over her adoration for particular books of mine. She was a fan and I was indebted to her on some level because of it. I just wasn't sure what she was after, the way she looked at me at certain points in the conversation, or the way she touched my hand softly on the table. I took it as a gesture of the culture and brushed it off, kindly of course.

But I wasn't an idiot, I saw something in her eyes I hadn't seen that clearly in a woman's eyes in a long time. I just loathed admitting to myself what it really was. So I ignored it all blatantly and let the complimentary smiles and touches go on as they may.

Eventually, I believe she tired of it herself though, "I must go and meet my friend at the market. I do hope your wife shows up soon for you."

"Yes, me too, thank you for stopping by to say hi."

She smiled briefly, before leaning down over the table and placing a gentle kiss on each of my cheeks. I felt her linger, I know what a lingering woman's lips feels like, and it was mostly definitely an unnerving, double _linger_.

_Let it go buddy, relax, let her run along, _I told myself, stopped myself from doing anything stupid as we men usually manage to do in these instances, and I let her slowly move away and then take her leave. _Good boy. _

* * *

_Good girl, Roxanne. Easy does it_. _Let her go. _

I bargained my will to succeed even at the sight of it, half hidden behind a doorway and cart of roses on the corner across from the café. I waited and watched as the younger, clearly more attractive, clearly not pregnant and Greek goddess like girl, walked slowly from my husband, and his table, my chair and our life, and back toward the market stalls where I felt she best belonged. Then I looked back to Mort for a moment, seeing how bothered he was by the girl, but in a way I saw as only being the pain of depravation. He'd struggled to not let the girl go further than was necessary for cultures sake; it had been a difficult thing for him.

_Maybe that's what he likes when I'm not around. _I thought it very peaceably, very fairly as I moved from around the cart and out into the street heading toward him with a smile. _Maybe dark little gypsy girls turn him on now too. _

I could feel the jealously boil over in me, even as I stepped up to the table and even as he stood in a flash to throw his arms around me, whispering something about being, _'glad you're okay'_, and then kissing me like it was only us in this foreign municipality, rich and passionately.

_Making up for what you missed out on with the Italian babe, huh buddy? _I thought it as his tongue moved into my mouth quickly, roving for a short moment and then releasing me to the ground again. I thought about it as he helped me to my chair, poured me a glass of wine and took my hands in his. I thought about it when he looked me dead in the eyes and said he missed me.

"I'm sorry it took me so long. I got lost."

_Second lie of the day. Racking up the points, Roxanne. Not good. _

He only smiled and kissed my hands.

"Don't apologize, I'm just glad you're back. I was worried."

_Oh yeah? Worried enough to trade looking for me, for a pair of vineyard fresh--"_

My thoughts were cut by him, "I found something for you."

"You did?"

He nodded and dug into his coat pocket, pulling out a sparkling chain and placing it into my hand on the table. It was locket, an old trinket of some kind that seemed to have been passed down through generations of this land. I had to smile away the pain and envy; it was impossible not to.

"It's beautiful."

I read the date, _1845_, and then shot a glance back up at him.

"And very _old_…where did you get this?"

I watched him nibble on the pad of his thumb, as if he were nervous, "An antique shop, just down the road here. I saw it and thought of you."

_Okay, so he was thinking of me, truly. But I still don't like that dark little tramp with her perfectly round--"_

Again, cut. "Let me help you put it on."

"Thank you."

I smiled and handed it to him as he moved around the table, hooking the necklace on my neck gently as I held my long hair out of the way. I stared at the other couples in the restaurant, all of them in love to some degree, and then I felt the two softest lips I'd ever known, melting the skin on the nape of my neck with a simple and searing kiss.

With a sigh into the touch, I reached behind me for his arm, pulling him toward my face instead.

"Can we go somewhere else?"

My whispering question caught him off guard as he kneeled to the side of my chair.

"I thought you wanted to eat at a café."

"I did," I held his face in my hands, "But I changed my mind. I think I want to do something crazy."

He laughed, confused. "Something crazy? What might that be?"

"I'm not sure. I just want to be fun again, and spontaneous. At home, I have a routine."

Mort looked up at me, slowly saddened.

"And don't get me wrong, honey, I love our routine. But I feel like I'm becoming boring to you."

"You're not. Why do say that?"

_Bring up the girl or not? Risk getting into an unnecessary argument or not? Not. _

"I don't know that's just how I feel. I want to be fun for you again, like I used to be."

He shook his head, obviously annoyed with my distrust of his words.

"You never stopped being fun, Roxanne. I don't know why you think that."

I shrugged and played with the necklace he'd found for me.

"But," he began with a sigh, rubbing my legs, "If you want to do something crazy, we'll do something _crazy_."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Let's go. Let's do it. Come on…"

He took my hands in his without another word, threw down enough euros to cover the table's hold and the bottle of wine that he took with us, and Mort pulled me down the streets and back to the car four blocks away. I didn't know what he was thinking, the way he glanced over at me and smiled once we were in the old Ferrari and pulling away. His hand on my leg, squeezing, teasing, was renewed.

I think I hit a nerve. A good one for the both of us.

_Now I just have to convince him that I'm as good as any twenty something Napoleon flirt. _

_

* * *

_

_Boring. My God, _I thought to myself, driving along the narrow coastal road from the city, _she's lost her mind. _

My new task for the day: prove Roxanne completely wrong all over again.

I figured I would start with driving, drive until she told me to stop, until it hit her what she wanted. The city distanced itself from us as the fields of flowers grew wide and higher all around, the sound of the ocean wilder, and the breeze thicker, warmer. She didn't say anything for a long time, so I was left to hum to the music filtering in through her iPod. It was one of those bands that guys like me don't know the name of, but we hear the song on the radio once and we suddenly are hooked to it like we're teenagers again. It was also the benefit of having a freelance _Rolling Stone_ journalist for a wife.

I smiled and hummed on, waiting for the request to be made.

Finally she asked, "Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want. Pick this _crazy_ adventure of yours."

"Me pick?"

I nodded and looked at her from the corner of my eye as she began to peel her eyes to my side of the car, looking out on the never-ending fields and castle villas in the distances. I hadn't even made it around the next bend in the road though, before she was pulling on my arm and telling me to stop.

"Pull over."

"Here?"

"Yes," she laughed, "Right here."

Here, there, was the only thing I hadn't really given any thought to. Before me, as I parked and got out of the car, was a field of wild, giant sunflowers, towering over the grass that ran the distance of a long hill to the sky. There was only ocean behind me as I turned to see Roxanne coming around from the other side with the bottle of Chianti from the restaurant.

She was a sight.

"What are you looking at? Let's _go_…" she teased, tugging on my arm across the tiny road to the other side.

Her bare feet hit the soil and grass the same time my boots did, and she walked quickly, dashing through the flowers like a child in search of the perfect spot. I followed with a shaking, bobbling head and wide eyes as she finally, after minutes of hunting, came across it. It was an open space in the midst of all the green and yellow, a sunny patch of warm ground where she fell down into the high grass like an angel in a snow bank.

I stood over her form, smiling as she giggled.

"Spontaneous enough for you?"

She nodded and threw her arms out wide in the grass with the bottle of wine rolling away.

"Aren't you coming down to join me?"

With a smirk, I tore off my jacket and unbuttoned the flannel shirt I wore as she watched on raised elbows.

"Oh yeah, baby," she teased. "Take it all off."

It was working. She wasn't so concerned with being fun anymore, since I think she could tell she still was. I helped the situation only the more, by undoing the last button of the shirt and slowly easing it off my back, then twisting it around in the air overhead as she howled. Then while her laughing and chanting softened, I tossed the shirt down to her face and she took in its scent, before I covered her body in the grass.

"Don't say you're boring," I whispered in her ear as I kissed her roughly. "You're nowhere near boring."

"No?"

I shook my head and began to gently pull off her black tee.

"But all I ever do…" she murmured under the movement of fabric over her head and her mess of long curls, "…is cook and give the kids' baths and…" I brushed the hair out of her eyes and mouth, "…_write_."

Her green eyes shimmered with a strange sadness under me; one I hated to admit was really there at all.

"I used to be wild. I used to be the life of the party."

"When you were _Roxy Love_?"

"Yeah."

I stroked her cheeks and pressed my body to hers softly.

"Well honey, I never knew Roxy Love. I only ever knew Roxanne Hayden. _Roxy Love_ was already gone when I met you. She was tired and ready to move on."

"Tired and boring."

"Hardly," I sighed against her lips. "Roxanne was the life of _my_ party."

She laughed and held my face to hers, arching up to kiss me back as deeply as she could. I felt her tongue beg entrance and I held onto her tight, letting it come forth and take mine hostage. I could understand so much of her in that moment, I could feel all the uncertainty she'd had for all this time and never once voiced. Maybe she was scared to, maybe she thought I would be upset by it, but it felt so good to know it existed. I know being pregnant made her vulnerable to the world around us, especially our simple life back at home. And I guess I owed this unplanned trip to save lives, for finally getting to see truth she was hiding.

Wet lips let mine linger away as she rested in the grass again and tugged at my belt and the button of my jeans. I was in a sort of a daze then, watching her hands move about anxiously between our bodies, from her jeans to my boxers, until we were bare to one another completely, skin to skin, hidden by an uninhabited field of sunflowers and the midday sun of the Naples coast.

I felt her breasts and the peaks upon them touch my chest as she rose to meet my hunched body, and that's when it all came rushing back to me, the reality of the moment. Looking down at her, I saw something I hadn't witnessed since the _official_ date number one.

"_Mort…would you do me a favor?"_

_Patience was all I could bring myself to acquire in that moment, the agony of not knowing what she needed, what I was about to be asked to do. __**'Will you please leave?' 'Will you run out and buy some milk?' 'Will you get me some more wine?' What does she want? **__I waited, tiredly, with my eyes falling downward in haste to see her chest heaving, her lips petals of grace, every ounce of her before me. And then her breath strained to plead as her eyes went wide with the shock of her own mental state_

"_Will you kiss me?" _

I saw innocence. I saw a woman who knew what she wanted and yet timidly asked for it. I saw that girl again, the one before the pink plus sign and all the running around. I saw that girl who found comfort in my arms on a rainy night when her truck got stuck in the mud. I saw two spoonfuls of sugar with milk, strawberry bagels, black sharpie notes, Caribbean hideaways, Jerry Seinfeld's influence, bare feet on a dashboard, a shelf that housed only my novels, and I saw a girl skinny dipping in Tashmore Lake, never bothering to wonder of the potential danger below.

There she was.

And just as soon as I saw her, she somehow hid herself again. It was like a magic act, where one minute she was discovered and the next, she was a mother and wife again, forced to find the last bit of spontaneity within our relationship in fields of wildflowers on the coast of Italy, just to prove to me it actually existed still. I was left feeling completely heartbroken then; having known what she was really doing to herself and realizing the protective barrier she was forming to keep everyone around her safe.

Then, as much as I knew it was bad and wrong and probably going to be what got me in trouble when push came to shove, I suddenly saw Catalina's face. I saw her innocence that somehow still remained in tack, untouched, unscathed. I hated myself for that. I wanted to kill myself for thinking of her then.

"Mort?"

"Huh?" I asked with trepidation as I felt Roxanne's hips squeeze dance me, nervously.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

_Lying bastard. You're so fucked if you screw this up. _

"Are you sure?"

What she's really saying is, _did you just lie to me? _And yet I continue to do it.

"I'm fine, baby."

I kiss her tenderly and assure her of it partially as I hold onto her, ready to do what we came here to do. But I can't can I? It feels so wrong now. I ruined it with my thoughts.

"You don't want to do this, do you?"

I find her eyes and stare at her longingly, trying to convince her somehow that I do. I hate to see her lose herself because of my stupidity.

"I do."

She laughs then suddenly and I feel her take hold of the limp appendage that never is in her hand.

"It really doesn't feel like it."

I look down to the scene of embarrassment and guilt below and realize she's right. I'm a coward to my own wife now. _Shit. Shit. Shit. _

"It's okay," she kisses my chin and starts to move away to find her clothes. "It's no big deal."

"Roxanne…" I try to bring her back to me and make her stop getting dressed. "Baby, I'm sorry. It's not you, I swear. I just--"

"Sh." She covers my mouth and hands me my clothes with a tight smile. A forced one no doubt. "Don't worry about it. Why don't we just go back? I'm pretty tired."

She's not though, I can see it. She's lying for me. My dishonesty has led to hers and it makes me so weak, so helpless and full of shame.

_I can't satisfy the love of my life. What the hell good am I? I'm pathetic._

I deliberate and convince myself of this the entire way back to the village and our villa. I lost the handle of my already too perfect, too undeserving world today.

Something's going sideways and I don't know why.

* * *

**(Roxanne)**

I'm losing a part of him. A good part.

I saw it in his eyes, the way he looked at me as though I wasn't there at all. He didn't see me. He saw someone or something else. A different life maybe? Another woman? Something more romantic, something here in this place, with the enchantment, the fervor of a younger, more beautiful girl?

I don't know, but I'll blame myself for not being more like her, more like this magical land for him. This morning I woke up and he was mine. I loved him and he loved me and everything was in set in stone.

Now, I'm a little scared.


	13. All Fall Down

**Chapter 12: All Fall Down**

* * *

"_I can't believe you're pregnant," he smiled._

"_Why's that?"_

"_I don't know, I guess I just never thought I'd get to hear that kind of news again."_

"_Are you scared?" With this question he looked at me as if I'd asked something odd, and only let his hand meet the slight of my stomach over my sweater. _

"_It's the first time I've been unafraid in fifteen years actually."_

"_You don't think it's too soon for this?"_

"_Do you?"_

"_I asked you first." _

_He rolled his eyes at me shortly before focusing back on the road and thinking. I too dwelled on it, while waiting for his reply. _

"_No, I don't," he finally responded, "Life's supposed to be about surprises right? The unexpected…? Like a Rolling Stone journalist…in a black bikini…" he licked his lips at this and I shook my head, "…inheriting the house next door?" _

_He was good. I could always give Mort that much. And resting my hand over his at my stomach I nodded with a grin, looking to see the yellow flash on the fuel meter._

"_We need gas."_

* * *

I woke up to the same sounds as the morning before; people, water, and close breathing. The people were loud but sweet sounding with their calls of daily chores and work in this place, the water was the background music to the people who fished and swam and lived upon it, and the breathing, _well_, the breathing was what I swam and lived upon, so it was equally as harmonious.

I turned over and fell right into his arms. Mort's brow creased and his body twitched to somehow, subconsciously and in practice, wrap around me. It felt good, to be awake and aware of the world while he was at peace, especially after what had come of the afternoon and evening before.

We'd left that incredible field of sunflowers, that perfect spot that can never come again, and there was silence and music only on our drive back here, to the villa. I wanted to keep telling him that it was alright and that he didn't need to think anything of it, since I didn't. But then I'd only be lying, because it wasn't alright and I did think _plenty_ of it.

I had come upon that table in the café yesterday, after the beautiful girl had left, and I very clearly saw the desire welling up within his jeans. It wasn't from thinking about me while he was talking with her, I'm sure. The girl in the restaurant had done something to my husband that I was sure any woman in the world could, to any man, anywhere. It wasn't a difficult task to accomplish. But for me, his wife, the woman who's carrying his child and would _literally_ kill for him, it was. He had me completely nude in a valley of wildflowers on the coast of Italy in broad daylight, and he froze.

Unfair or not, one time or not, I took it as a warning sign and I let him see as much.

In fact for the rest of the night, while he went back and forth between titles for his book and finished off almost an entire bottle of wine by alone, I sat curled up in a blanket on the veranda, trying my hardest to count the stars in the sky instead of think about what had gone so wrong. It didn't work though, as you might well have guessed. I ended up blaming myself for it entirely. If I wasn't so needy, if I didn't take up so much of his time with issues over the kids, if I looked more like that girl, maybe I wouldn't have cause to worry.

I looked at him then, now, while he slept and I stared, and I watched the way his nostrils flared as he dreamed, like Max's do, and I saw the way his brow creased down in distant awareness of my being there, the way Madeline's does. I saw so much of my kids and our life back at home there, on his peaceful face, that I eventually couldn't take it anymore and I slid out of bed, got dressed, and went down to the kitchen.

I made coffee, I ate a muffin and I pondered for a long time. And when I was tired of pondering nothing but uncertainty, I found a scrap of paper and I wrote a note. Then I decided to go for a walk, and yeah, you guessed it, ponder some more.

* * *

"_I'll go get him_…"

Was I really mumbling? Was she there? I reached out in my sleep, and felt nothing beside me.

"…_you sleep, I'll get Max_…"

Yes, I was definitely out of it. Proven just as soon as I opened my eyes and saw the same bed, in the same blue room as the night before. This wasn't home and there were no five year olds to wrangle and tie to their beds. No baths, no bedtime stories or monsters in the closet.

It was just me.

"Rox…?" I questioned, half dazed as I stretched.

There was no answer and I saw again, more coherent, no one else in the bed with me. I sat up, looked around and out to the balcony, but she wasn't in the room at all. The villa was dead silent, but I got up and threw on a pair of jeans anyway, rubbing my sweaty, growling stomach all the way downstairs to the living room and then the kitchen.

"Roxanne?"

Nothing but John Mayer playing softly from the nearby stereo. Something about slow dances and burning rooms, things I didn't want to think about with a wine induced headache and blurry eyes. I shut it off and stumbled around the kitchen some more, thinking that she might pop out of a cupboard and come running in from the veranda, or the foyer, or at the very least from right behind me.

I rubbed my eyes and muttered, "Where did she--" but was stopped when I saw the note.

She was good at these. She wrote the simplest notes like they were pure poetry. Roxanne wrote notes in lunchboxes, on the car dashboards, in my office, on the bathroom mirror with markers, and even on my hands with black sharpie some days.

_Like Shakespeare, _I smiled, thinking about those sharpie ones the most, the trick she'd gotten from me, and then I lifted the note off the counter.

**Went for a walk, needed some fresh air.**

**I'll be fine. Call me if you need me.**

**Be back soon.**

**R**

"Call me if you need me…" I shook my head, threw down the note and turned for the coffee pot, mumbling as I poured a cup. "No, why ever would I _need_ you, baby?"

The answer wasn't so far away and I hated that it had only managed to come a day late. Rubbing away the tightness in my jeans, I gulped at the hot, black liquid and headed for the villa's main balcony. I wondered and attempted to see her walking somewhere below, on one of the visible corner streets or along the faraway beach, but I found nothing. So I reached into the back pocket of my jeans, pulled out my cell phone, and began to do something that I rarely do and which takes me a good twenty, pathetic minutes to type and spell check.

I texted her.

* * *

Stumbling along the rocky path in my well worn Converse and an iPod that was blaring Edith Piaf in and out of my ear drums, I was focused, I was driven to this walk and this air and this seclusion back here, where I didn't know which way to go. I was just _going_, to get somewhere.

Vines made a canopy overhead and the sound of waves were coming on closer as I pushed my way through the thick, wild rose bushes at the end of the dark part of the path. The sun came out then and a smile fell on my face when I saw the aqua water down below in the isolated harbor.

I breathed in deep, took one more step, and while the music was coursing through my veins perfectly, a single vibration in back pocket of my jeans stopped me. I pulled out my cell phone, flipped it open and saw a text message waiting to be read from a name I wasn't expecting.

**MORT**

_He hates texting, _I told myself as I drew up the message and read it, _what's gotten into him?_

**_Bring back some of that fresh air for me!_**

**_Don't get lost. _**

**_Love you, baby._**

I know I shouldn't have, but the first thing I thought was, _how much?_ Now how much air should I bring back, but how much do you love me, _really_? I couldn't shake the jealousy and I didn't know why. Women stared at him all the time back at home, every woman in town wanted him for their lover. He got kisses and hugs and touches from countless fans at his book signings and it never bothered me, _ever_. But now, this girl, this romantic kind of atmosphere around me and us and them the day before, was killing me.

I thought for a single second about what to type back to him. I let the scratchy, French lyrics in my ear sweetened by time drown my conscious mind until I started to move my fingers over the buttons of the phone.

**My bad, just didn't want to wake you up.**

_Think…think…be normal. _My fingertips started pushing down again vigorously.

**And don't worry, I brought a map.**

_What? No. _I quickened my pace on the delete key and changed my words. _Don't be sarcastic._

**I wish I had though, the view from here is beautiful. **

_Okay, that's better. _I lifted my phone, snapped a photo of the bay surrounding me and the few sailboats tied down below, and then attached it to the message with a final, **I love you too. **

_Send…sending…sent._

I figured it would be awhile before I heard back from him, mostly because he can't text to save his life, so I walked ahead on the rocky plateau above the harbor and sat down towards the edge of a jetting cliff. There were only two boats in the water 100 feet below, one was blue and one was red, both with sails drawn up and one person, probably fisherman, on board each.

Nothing could have taken me from that spot though, not as I began to relax and breathe well again, and especially not when I pulled my wallet out of my woven messenger bag and found the photo I knew so well, of two children, right in the middle.

_Bug and Rocky, _I sighed in deep thought, relishing in the nicknames we'd given them along the way, respectfully and rightfully so. I moved my index finger over each of their tiny, smiling faces and laughed a little to myself as the music wore on in my ears and the sun grew warmer on my bare back.

_God, I wish I making you guys breakfast right now…_

And just as soon as I spoke the words in my mind, I felt the shake of something near my foot and saw my phone light up beneath me. Another text, faster than I expected but for an obvious reason when I opened it and read simply:

**Roxanne, I'm sorry about yesterday. **

Oh yeah, that one hit me like a fair sized brick. I immediately went through a list of things I could send as reply.

_It's okay, Mort, really. I understand. _

No.

_It happens to everyone, I'm not upset. _

Can't.

_It's not you, it's probably me._

Hell no.

I began typing before I even knew what I was saying and finished when I wasn't sure I could even read it.

**Never happened. I saw nothing, honey.**

_Good enough. _I sent it, got up, changed my music to something a little more enthusiastic, _The Shins, Sea Legs…yeah, that works, _and began to venture down further on the rocks.

It wasn't easy to do, especially since I'm not the most coordinated pregnant woman in the world, but I had a good enough handle on the stony slopes as I tumbled down onto the lower level of the cliffs. My bag swung at my side with every move I made, almost too heavy for comfort, but I carried on with the beat flowing in and out of my cerebellum. And it wasn't long before I felt another vibration in my jeans and realized that it was a phone call this time, not a text. I pulled my headphones out and answered.

"Hey."

**"_Rox, don't say anything okay. Just let me talk."_**

I stayed silent and turned toward the water again, watching carefully as one of the fishermen below hauled up a large crate cage of what looked like crabs.

**"**_**You know I didn't mean for that to happen yesterday, and it wasn't you baby, don't think that 'cause I know you and I know that's what you're thinking."** _Alright, so he knew me. Damn it all for having a husband who knows me. _**"You want proof, I've got proof right now, still." **_He started laughing into the phone and I stood confused, listening and watching the man down near the water, tossing his catch around his boat. _**"I woke up needing you. I woke up harder than I think I've been in twenty years, just from a dream. I'm dying 'cause you're not here." **_

He still laughed and I still listened intently, a little amused but not much.

**"_We can't pretend yesterday didn't happen, but I'm going to make it up to you."_**

"Mort…" I tried to bargain, but he cut me off.

**"_No, I'm serious. I owe it to you. I was supposed to be showing you how much fun you can be, and I ruined it."_**

"You don't have to--"

**"_Just let me."_**

I sighed, but the half comfort didn't last long. Only a second later, as I heard him begin to speak again, something about how I **'_made good coffee'_**, there was a loud ring of what sounded like gunfire from above my head and I stumbled back in a turn toward the noise, looking up.

Yet no sooner did I hear a shout and then Mort say, _**'Sweetheart?'**, _than did I feel my shoes slipping on the rocks. I tried to grab the cliff in front of me, but it was no use. The phone fell out of my hand, my body tilted, my jaw broke into a gasp then a shrill scream that even I had grown freakishly accustomed to, and I started to drop down, _quickly_, without resistance in the hot, moving air…

There was no knowing where it would end, until it did and I broke the surface of the water fifty or so feet below. It felt like a million knives striking me all at once and I distinctly remember hitting my arm on something rough, a rock I think, and then my knee, once I was under the crash of water. I thought I was dead before I even began to drown, so I didn't try to move or swim or save myself. I was sure it was too late this time.

I'd survived too much already.


	14. Another Gentleman's Hand

**Chapter 13: Another Gentleman's Hand**

* * *

"_Gino ow' is she? Hurt bad?"_

"_No, she is a-fine, really."_

Two voices, _was I really hearing two voices_? One was anxious and colorful, but rich. The second, was reassuring, Italian and friendly. But were they real, that was the question. Were they in my head where most writers kept their voices, even after death? Or were they somewhere I wasn't yet, like _awake_?

"_Surprise though, she is with-a child."_

"_She's pregnant? Is th' baby ok?"_

"_Si, incinta my friend. And fine, they are both fine."_

They stopped again, whoever they were. I could feel something, air, a breeze, heaven maybe? _Did I actually make it?_ In my mind, wherever it was, I was laughing. And the voices, wherever they were, began again.

"_Hmm…She did say she was married."_

"_You already know this girl, eh Michel? Luck then, no?"_

A sigh, I swear I heard a sigh. A real one, not a theological one.

"_I know er' mate. But this isn't lucky. You're sure she's okay?"_

"_Yes, yes. She is-a half awake now…"_

_What? Who, me? _

And of course, before I could ask myself the question again or ponder it in my state of isolation and purgatory, I felt my eyes opening to the light above me.

"You see. Look at her now, waking up."

All at once then, when I could see a bright yellow ring shining down in my eyes and a sea of blue surrounding it, I felt two soft hands, one on my cheek and the other on my arm. Slowly, as the light moved away and something else came in to block it for me, I began to make out the shape of a face, one that probably belonged to one of the voices. It didn't appear as a man for another few seconds of fluttering blinks, but when it did, and when I saw the faintest glow of two ember eyes staring down at me, I truly believed I'd made it to the gates.

"Roxanne?"

The angel knew my name. I never believed in this stuff, the bright light at the end of the long tunnel, the heavenly bodies floating high over you when you made it, it all seemed so superficial to be of any real religious meaning. But now, seeing the glory of something I couldn't explain, I swear I found deep faith.

"Roxanne, can ye 'ear me?"

_Ah, _I thought with a relaxing grin, _my guardian angel is Irish. Nice touch, 'oh great one'._

"I don' think she can 'ear me."

I nodded against his hands ferociously, begging him to understand that I could. And then he smirked wildly, like I thought I remembered someone else before him doing. His face though, was half in the shadow of the blocked sun and I couldn't make him out.

"Can ye speak t' me then, love?"

Again, I nodded and fought against everything in me to get my spiritual voice.

"Y-yes," I finally stuttered as he brushed my wet cheeks. _Why the hell was I wet in heaven? _

"Good, that's good. Yer alright, yer fine now."

Very gently, I felt my body being lifted, as if on a cloud but even better. It was this strange man's arms, his strong, perfect, safe arms. I held onto him, afraid I might fall right back down to earth or even farther, to the heat where I thought I belonged. But I didn't, I stayed right there, sitting curled into his arms, breathing the salty burn of him in and sighing for relief as I heard the other man speak again nearby.

"Need to get her some dry clothes."

The angel stroked through my dripping hair and replied, "I 'ave some down below ye can grab."

"An' do you know where t' find her husband, Roux?"

_Relief gone._

_Roux. Roux. Roux. Roux. Roux. Irish. The painter. The shop. The eyes. _ROUX_…_

I forced myself away from his comforting arms suddenly and blinked to catch his face in the brighter light, breathing heavily and anxiously as he continued to try and soothe me.

"You…_you're_…I know you," I gasped as he eyed me curiously.

"An' I know you."

"The painting."

He smiled out of the corner of his mouth. "Is on its way t' a place called _Mills River_."

My eyes bulged and I gripped his arms, which were soaked like mine, but ever stronger.

"I'm not…_this isn't_--"

"Wot'?"

"I'm not dead?!"

He was amused by that one, as he well should have been. I was making a complete fool of myself.

"Ye are very much alive. And yer baby th' same."

The gruff, older voice intervened from behind me as the second man came forward with dry clothes.

"All thanks to Roux here, signora. Pulled you from la acqua, like a fish."

I shot a glance from the elder, chuckling Italian fisherman's face, to Roux's dark eyes as he responded.

"But it was Gino ere' who got t' play doctor on ye."

I stiffened, not sure what that meant. I was scared until I got the answer.

"E's been retired for far too long. E' finally got a patient again."

"An' she fell from the sky. Come per _magia_, magic."

Roux laughed and I breathed past the pain I suddenly felt swelling in my leg, the one that was draped across both of his. Then I felt it in my head. I reached for each, one at a time, and found blood in both locations.

"Don't worry, we'll get ye bandaged up. First ye need dry clothes, though."

My eyes widened again, nervous in his arms.

"I don't think I can--with my leg…"

"Need 'elp?"

I nodded with my face low and embarrassed. And there, in that moment when I agreed to let the gypsy painter who had saved my life help to get me out of my wet clothes, was when I saw Mort's face and heard his voice and saw him worried and scared and as jealous as I'd been.

"My husband," I whispered out of reaction mode.

Roux grinned respectfully with a hand raised and said, "I promise I won' gawk."

I accepted because I had no choice and he wrapped my arms around his neck as he lifted me from the bench, which I had since realized was on a boat. Then he carried me toward the small wooden cabin in the middle. It was close quarters inside, dark, but cozy in a nice and homely way, and decorated by what appeared to be decades of travel. He very easily sat me down on the old bed, which was comfortable in that it sank to the mold of my weight, as if it were meant to hug someone to sleep.

Roux stepped in front of me then, kneeling and unhooking my wet jeans without concern for anything but getting them off and something dry on in exchange. He slipped them off, only taking his time when he came to the gash in my knee.

"Thought so. Ye must 'ave hit the rocks harder than I thought."

I winced at the pain of the soaked denim pulling at the torn skin and muscle.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be." I smiled with tears and helped him as best I could. "You saved my life."

He looked up at me with those ever falling eyes, hooking me, sinking me.

"I had to."

"No you didn't."

"Yes," he chuckled, "I did."

"Why?"

The pants landed in a wet ball on the floor and he tried not to look _directly_ up at my black lingerie, while he worked on sliding a pair of worn, men's cotton shorts up each of my legs instead.

Finally he replied, "Because me best painting is on its way t' America for ye. Tough gift t' get back."

I laughed away the pain and pulled the shorts up with the drawstring tight to make up for the extra space, letting the blood still trickle down my leg from the knee. He soon put a stop to this too though, as he tugged a wet sash from around his neck, folded it and began to wipe away the seeping red until there was none left.

"That painting is slowly increasing in price. It's saving lives now, and you choose to give it away for free."

"Still th' only worthwhile price in me eyes."

"If you say so."

"I do. In fact, I insist."

He lifted a beaten old white shirt from the floor of the cabin and then half stood to pull away my wet tank top and replace it quickly, at the expense of only a peek or two from what I could see. His shirt was so warm and comfortable when it hit my shivering skin. It smelled like him too, as if he had only just slept in it the night before. Tiny paint blots were scattered, of blue and greens and reds all alike, and this made me smile all the more as he set about to bandage my leg.

He held my leg on his lap as he sat on the floor below me, wiped and cleaned and medicated the affected area. I twisted the water out of my long curls and into a towel he'd tossed to me and then tried to brush through them for distraction as I felt the pain of the alcohol on my wound. I bit my lip and he threw me a short, with that completely unfair way he had of grinning I might add.

I thought of Mort again though, strangely enough. I wondered if he had heard the gunshots I could only now remember, in the phone. I wondered if he was hunting for me like crazy. I wondered how long I'd been out, and how long I'd been gone. I recalled falling into the water with my bag and I knew I'd dropped my cell phone too.

"Do you know what time it is?"

Roux pulled out a pocket watch from his dripping shirt and shook the water out as I laughed.

"2:30."

He smiled up at me jokingly.

"That doesn't even work does it?"

"Nope. Not anymore."

"That's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Don' be. I got it from a thief in Greece. It was bound t' go sideways sooner r' later."

I looked at him sort of funny, at his phrasing rather than the note of him possibly befriending thieves.

"Go sideways?"

"Yeah, ye know…" he began to wrap gauze about my knee, "…when somethin' breaks, or goes odd. When ye don't know how t' explain wot's happened, but it still 'as. We say it's gon' sideways."

I liked that for some reason. Maybe because it's how I had felt the last few days or so. I couldn't explain what was happening to me, or my marriage, or my husband. It felt odd, it felt unfair and unjust and all weird, and I didn't know why. We'd gone _temporarily_ sideways.

"Whose _we_?" I finally questioned him.

And in that insanely perfect and killer accent he whispered, "Me mother mostly."

"I like her logic."

He responded with only a smile and I think I knew why, so I let it go and watched him finish on my leg before he came to take a seat beside me on the mattress. It formed to the both of us and brought his chest close to mine, his breath to cover me and his eyes nearly glued to my forehead as he wiped away the blood from the cut that was there.

"Looks like yer a magnet for these."

I looked up at him oddly, confused again.

"Wounds," he answered my facial expression, "Ye got a right pretty scar up ere' already."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that."

"Lacking grace are ye, doll?"

I shook my head with a giggle and assured him of his wrongness.

"No. I was in a car accident before I left the States."

He was suddenly pensive, almost sad looking, like a brooding puppy.

"But I'm fine."

He nodded and placed a small butterfly bandage on my forehead.

"Good t' hear."

"Thank you, _again_, for everything. I owe you the universe and then some, I think."

A smile crossed his lips, and they were close, so close I found myself tempted to do something completely wrong. But I didn't. I knew where my place was.

"Yer welcome," he whispered, his hot breath hitting my mouth.

And then, when I really hadn't expected it, I felt his lips, the same ones I'd been admiring, reach up and lightly press against the warm skin at my brow. He stayed there for what felt like forever and a day, but it wasn't romantic as much as it was caring, sentimental and healing.

_And oh God was it ever healing._

He murmured then, "I should get ye back t' your husband."

"Yes."

I was timid, quiet, not wanting his lips to leave my skin, but not sure they should be there at all. He kissed me a second time, a little lower on the bridge of my nose.

"E' must be worried sick."

"_Yes_…"

There was a wet imprint left from his lips as he slowly moved away. My eyes were shut tenderly, trying to pretend it wasn't over, and maybe it wasn't, because a second later, while I sat idly in my own little world, I again felt his mouth. This time it hit my right cheek. Then it landed on my right eyelid, my left closed eyelid, and finally, my left cheek.

I sighed against the touches but eventually forced myself to see him.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't right o' me."

"No."

He smiled, thinking I was agreeing with him so easily.

"No, I mean, it's fine."

"Ah, very well then." With that, he carefully lifted me from the bed again, realizing that I couldn't quite walk properly with my stinging leg, and carried me back out onto the deck. "Time t' get ye back to where ye belong, little American lassie."

I smiled and clung to him tight, for whatever reason, wishing I didn't have to let go.

And then I again remembered the man I'd probably sent into a raging fit of fear, as well as the cell phone I'd lost and whispered, "Do you have a phone I can use, Roux?"

* * *

No return calls came in when the line died and no text messages were sent. I wasn't sure what had happened. I heard a loud bang from my end, then a scream from Roxanne and a click, but nothing more. Oh sure a hundred million things went through my mind at once, and double that to two million whenever I thought of the baby, although I tried to ignore them all.

I waited for almost ten minutes to see if she'd dial back. And when she didn't and when I had left greasy fingertip prints all over the countertop, tapping away nervously, biting my nails and shifting my eyes from the balcony to the front door of the villa, I decided to go out and find her.

I jumped in the Ferrari and drove as fast as I could through the tiny streets and around the complicated corners of the village. I stopped at least twenty times, whenever I saw a brown haired woman walking with her back turned or whenever I saw someone with fishing nets since the photo she sent to my phone was of the coast. But no one had answers and they all sent me in different directions, saying that the photo could be of any single point on the coast from here to Sicily.

Needless to say, I was going crazy.

And yeah, I probably would have made it to the nearest Italian asylum too, if I hadn't driven further, or prayed longer, or thought about her so many times in so few minutes at once. The clock radio in the old car sprang to read exactly 5:00, and that's when I heard my cell phone ring from the passenger's seat. The number wasn't familiar, it actually appeared local in comparison to others I'd seen on storefronts, but I answered it all the same, certain that it was something important, something necessary.

"Hello?"

It was scratchy, but I could hear a soft, _**"Honey?"**_ And that's what made me pull off the road.

I ground the Ferrari into park, shoved open the car door and ran out into the small coastal lane of highway.

"Roxanne, is that you?"

_**"It's me. It's--"**_

Another cut. I circled around, thinking it was my reception, and tearing up just from the confusion and joy.

"Baby, can you hear me? Roxanne?!"

_**"I can--" "—yes, I--" "—Mort--"**_

"I'm here. You're breaking up."

My breathing staggered, my pulse raced like a horse about to run for its livelihood, and my eyes welled with the wetness that I hadn't let fall in the course of the hunt yet. I wanted to shout for her to give me a clue as to where she was. I figured it would at least get me a little closer to finding her again. But I didn't get a chance, not when a single second later, I heard a honking on the darkening road behind me and saw two rusted old headlights coming at me.

**_"It's me--we're pulling up to you."_**

And finally I got to smile. Well, for a few seconds anyway.

The line on the phone went dead when I saw the shadow of a fishing truck door open, then saw one bare foot hit the dusty ground, the other lagging behind as I ran toward her. She was struggling just to stand up on one leg, let alone the both of them, and let alone run to me as well.

"Roxanne…"

I hurried to the truck door, pulled it open further to wrap my arms around her waist and lift her from the ground. She wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging tight, as if she wanted to squeeze the life out of me. Not that I cared, since I was doing the same to her, crying into her shoulder and kissing her neck.

"Oh my God, I thought--" I breathed deep and she held onto me more roughly. "I don't know what I thought. Are you okay?"

I pulled her face back, brushing her hair from her eyes with a free hand as she smiled, weakly.

"I'm alive. That counts right?"

"Yes." She wiped the tears off of my nose for me. "That's all that counts."

I saw someone coming towards us from around the right side, the driver's side of the truck, and I moved to place her back on her own two feet, realizing only a quick second later, that it wasn't going to happen and that she was wearing someone else's clothes, a man's, _this man's maybe_?

Roxanne seethed in pain when her left foot hit the ground, apparently causing her knee to bend in a direction that wasn't exactly well enough for it, and she grasped onto me again with a screech.

"Sweetheart, what happened? You're--"

I was interrupted by the voice of the moving figure in the blue shadows of late day.

"She landed near th' rocks when she hit th' water. I tried t' bandage her knee as best I could, but she could stand t' have an x-ray still, m'sure."

The face of a man, not much older than me I assumed, came into view with a smile. He scratched his temple as he examined the way Roxanne was standing off her injured leg, same as I was.

"Mort," she held onto my arms as I kept her close to me. "This is Roux. He saved me."

It hurt to hear that for some reason. I guess because that had always been my job, to save her life. I'd done it so often, under so many different circumstances, that it came as a blow to hear that some other man, a stranger with a glowing grin for my wife, had rescued her this time. But I hid my pain well and reached out to shake his hand.

"Well _Roux_, I don't think I can thank you enough."

He acted modestly, like all good heroes do. "It really was nothing. I couldn't _not_ ave' done it, ye know?"

"Right."

Roxanne and I shared a short glance and I saw something in her eyes behind the pain and exhaustion. It looked like nervousness and I couldn't understand why it was there.

"I fell from the cliffs and I would have drowned, but he jumped in, and saved me _and_ the baby. He even broke his own watch in the process…"

They shared a sly smirk and bit of laughter of their own, and all I could do was nod.

"Roux is a painter. I met him at the gallery yesterday."

_She met him at the gallery and didn't say a word about it? _

This caught me off guard a little as I watched their conversation continue on for another minute or so, trying my best to keep Roxanne from standing on her bad leg.

"Had t' rescue er' so I knew me painting would find a safe owner back in th' States."

Roxanne giggled and rested her head on my shoulder.

"You bought a painting, you didn't tell me that?"

"Oh no, I--"

"It was a gift, mate. I've been trying t' get rid o' the thing for a decade."

My mouth was half hanging open as I nodded to him, then glanced down to catch Roxanne's glowing green eyes under my chin, and again back to the man who seemed to have made easy friends with her.

"We really do owe you then. Is there anything we can--"

He cut me off, as if he had already practiced the art of it with my wife.

"Nothing, honestly. I'm human, an' any decent one would ave' done the same. I'm just glad t' get er' back to you safely, that's all."

_Good answer, bud, _I thought jealousy, as I held onto her waist tighter, claiming her for him to visibly see.

"I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. I've been losing my mind all afternoon."

"I had a feeling you would," Roxanne whispered and hugged me close. "I told Roux you'd be going crazy."

"She did," he laughed heartily.

A minute or so passed, where little was said but the obvious, a couple of shared inside jokes between the Irish hero and the girl who should have been raised from the depths of the Italian waves by only me. Then, there were goodbyes, a hobbling hug from Roxanne to the painter, but nothing beyond what gratitude and respect required, and then he was getting back in his truck again.

"Stay safe on th' rest o' your vacation, yeah?"

"I will."

"Trust me," I joked fairly, finally feeling comfortable enough with the situation to do it. "She _will_."

Smiles were thrown about, the rumble of the rusting old truck mixed with the scent of long since forgotten crabs in the back, and after a storm of dust was lifted into the gray sky, the man named Roux, with the twisted smirk and brooding eyes, took off.

I carried Roxanne to the car, helped her into the passenger's seat with a resting place for her leg, and nearly had the door shut when I felt her tug on my shirt and pull me down to her inside, practically forcing me to kneel to the ground in the rush.

Her hands held my face in the darkening light of day, her eyes roaming upon mine, over my lips and nose and chin and then back to my eyes again, searching for something by the looks of it. And when I thought she had found it, I saw her lips twist into a tender smile.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

She nodded, ran the pad of her thumb over my bottom lip and then captured my entire mouth against hers, warmly, sensationally, the way I'd dreamed it all day long. I could have stayed there, half standing inside of the Ferrari, pressed into her heat and weak softness the rest of the night. I could have kissed her, tasted the salty sweetness on her tongue and every other bit of her saved skin into the next morning, right there.

But she eventually broke the kiss, let her tongue slide from mine and smiled.

"You're still my hero,_ Prince Rainman_. Okay?"

I chuckled a little, not expecting her to say such a thing, never realizing she saw my jealousy at all and could only agree with a gentle nod and kiss on her forehead.

"Okay."


	15. Sideways in Plain View

**Chapter 14: Sideways in Plain View

* * *

**

**Roxy,**

**Check these guys out. They're a new band from LA. The lead vocalist is from Charleston. You might have heard of them down there. I have a feeling you'll like they're stuff, so if you feel up to working on a piece just let me know. **

**Hope Italy is treating you guys well. Make sure you send us some pictures. And take care of that baby!**

**Peace Kiddo,**

**Jack**

The absolute furthest thing from my mind was work, especially work that I did for fun. _Sorry Jack_ I saved the message and went on checking my email, deleting ads and spam for what felt like forever, until I ran across a name I didn't recognize in my inbox.

_C. Arentino. _

I sipped at my coffee and clicked to open the message. It was simple when I read it, three clear lines, stating exactly what this mystery person wanted, or for that matter, didn't want.

**Roxanne Hayden, you don't remember me and if I can help it you will never have to. There is only one reason I've reached out to contact you again, and that is so you will know that your perfectly safe life, is in jeopardy. I may have missed yesterday, but I will kill you eventually. **

My fingers on the mug weakened and I choked as it fell and broke on the tile floor. _What in the hell…_I hurried and clicked back to the inbox page again, to focus on that name, _C. Arentino. Who the hell is that? This has got to be a joke. _My eyes hunted back and forth on the screen violently, searching for clues that weren't even there. Just three lines, one convincing enough, _**I will kill you eventually. **_As opposed to what, their failed attempts at it already?

The date was for that same morning, **December 30, 2008**, which meant that whoever this was, had been fully aware of my survival the day before on the cliffs, and even more so, of my rescue and escape from home to here. Or else, they wouldn't have sent it, especially at 5 am on a Wednesday.

_Right, right…?_

My feet shook nervously on the coffee stained floor, causing my legs to tremble the same, which in turn brought a striking pain to my left knee, where the bone was worse off than I had realized the night before. I looked down and saw that the bandage Roux had put on was worn from sleep and that my anxious movement was causing blood to seep through.

"Damn."

I pushed away from table and my laptop, and hobbled as best as I could to the kitchen sink. The cloth was almost entirely wet and I had nearly gotten the gauze off of my knee, when I heard a tired inquiry.

"What's going on? What was that noise?"

Mort inched closer slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"I dropped my coffee. And my knee is bleeding again, that's all."

This alerted him and he met me suddenly at the sink, lifting me up to the kitchen counter and taking over the task of stopping the bleeding himself. He continuously wet the rag, held it with a warm pressure to the red gash and sighed.

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

He looked at me then, with weary but smiling eyes.

"You didn't. I was getting dressed anyway when I heard the crash."

I pointed off at the table, "It broke in a million pieces. There's coffee everywhere."

"I'll clean it up, don't worry."

He added tighter pressure around my kneecap and I pulled the messy gold and brown hair out of his face, satisfied in seeing his eyes in full. I wasn't sure whether to tell him about the email or not. I guess I should have, considering the subject matter and the fact that the person seemed serious. But I don't give in to threats through _Yahoo_ so easily.

Mort rinsed the bloodied cloth out while I reached down the counter for the bandages and medical tape he'd bought on our way back the night before. I tried to lean over and dress the wound myself, but he took control of that too and lifted my leg higher as he wrapped the gauze around at least a dozen times, smiling here and there.

"I don't even want to know how you managed to get down all those stairs alone."

I grinned, "Flamingo legs, remember? I work best on one at a time."

He laughed and finished taping the wound before lifting me off the counter and carrying me safely across the glass covered floor to the couch. He laid me down carefully and half fell on top of me, running his hand up my good, right leg with curious fingers.

"I'm just glad to have them _both_ back here with me now."

"You mean 'wrapped' around you."

"Well yeah," he grinned and leaned down to kiss me roughly when I hung on his neck and lifted my good leg up and over his hip, pulling him to me closely. He groaned against my mouth as our middles meshed together violently, pleadingly, and then ruined the moment for me when he whispered with little breath and a sad tone, "I heard bullets on the phone yesterday."

I traced over his mustache and lowered my eyes.

"Someone fired a gun, above my head. I couldn't see them."

"And then you fell?"

I nodded, sighed angrily and he helped me to sit up on the couch, consumed by his arms.

"We're being followed."

"You think so?"

"Yeah," his fingers twirled through my long hair, "I knew they would come eventually."

There was that word again, _eventually_, and I couldn't help but to turn my head around to where my laptop and the email sat open across the room. Mort turned to look with me, interested in whatever seemed to have captured my attention so quickly again.

"What is it?"

I ignored him, staring at the distant screen, not sure whether I should show him. Would it make a difference really, whether he knew or not? What could he do to protect me that he hadn't already, or that I couldn't continue to do for myself?

"Rox, _what_?"

"It's uh…" I paused when I heard a phone ring, Mort's phone.

"Tell me."

"You should get that."

He stared at me, half as interested in the phone as in the startled look on my face. But he got up and went to answer it, shouting back, "Hold your thoughts, I still want you to tell me what's wrong."

He reached the counter, leaned on it and opened his phone as I watched on nervously.

"Hello? Oh hey, man."

I hugged one of the throw pillows to me and sat with a questioning face. His answer was mouthed from across the room, _Sam. _I smiled for a moment, happy to know that he'd finally reached us, but it was all put to a fast end when I saw Mort's smile fade away.

"What are you talking about? She's right here."

I slowly rose from the sofa then and moved toward him in a worried stumble.

"Mort, what happened?"

He just looked at me and went on talking to his brother.

"That doesn't make any sense, Sam. Roxanne's fine."

The anger increased in his eyes and he moved past me quickly, heading for my laptop. I was too weak and too well injured to stop him, but he didn't seem to pay any attention to the email and instead went right to work at typing away and scanning other pages, shaking his head in a strangely horrific way the whole time.

"This is…what the _hell_? Why would they publish this bullshit without confirmation?!"

I limped with a tired wince or two toward Mort, and grasped his leaning back to steady myself and see over his shoulders at the computer screen. I was expecting to see all kinds of things, something about the Klein mafia being abroad again, something wrong with his or my own book sales or hell, even something odd about the American government having been taken over by terrorists and that we wouldn't be allowed to return to our country, ever.

Anything really, except what I did discover, standing there, leaning on my shivering husband.

**New York**

_**Bestselling Novelist and Rolling Stone Journalist, **_

_**Roxanne Rainey, Found Dead in Childhood Home**_

_Tashmore Lake, New York_

**February 12, 1978 - December 29, 2008**

I didn't even notice Mort had settled me down into the chair, or that he had walked away shouting into the phone and pounding his fist on things. Not until I snapped out of the trance that the florescent computer screen and the bold faced words were causing me to fall into. They were so realistic, so truthful, so commanding of attention despite them being false. At least, I assumed they were false, since I could very clearly feel the pain in my leg, and the beating of my heart and the staggering of my gasping breath. But I again assumed, that very soon, within seconds even, these made up facts might become partly truth, especially if I couldn't remind myself how to breathe.

_Found Dead. Someone found me? They found my body? Ridiculous. _

I let the article below my black and white photo seep into my brain at least somewhat, trying to determine what it could all mean, and who had decided to play this cruel trick on me, on us.

_America's beloved sweetheart author, mother of two and wife to world renowned mystery writer, Morton Rainey, was confirmed to have been found dead in her grandparent's home on Tashmore Lake in upstate New York, early yesterday evening. The home was where the young bestseller spent her summers as a child, and where five years ago, the real life terror and inspiration for her first novel, __**Hide and Seek Out**__, is known to have begun. _

_Roxanne, 30, and husband Morton, 36, were assumed to have been vacationing privately at the residence this holiday weekend, with their 4 ½ year old twins Max and Madeline. The state of the three others is not yet confirmed, and all calls to the Rainey's publicists and agents have gone unreturned thus far. _

_There is also no evidence yet whether her death is connected to the publicly known and Hollywood enacted string of events that put the couple in danger previously with the Chicago based, Klein mafia. Updates will be further provided by The New York Times as facts are verified completely. An autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow, December 31, 2008. _

An autopsy. So they know I'm dead, but they don't know what killed me, or how, or when really. _Isn't this just wonderful._

I sat trying to piece together what I could with a half functioning brain, and didn't stop until I heard Mort come back into the kitchen again, demanding answers of someone else, someone new on his phone. I turned around in my chair carefully, watching how his arms flew above his head, how his fist met the marbled countertops with frustration and confusion. And when he was quiet and listening to someone on the other line, he looked up with reddened eyes and found mine across the open space. We stared at one another for what felt like a lifetime, not sure what to say or do.

He soon moved around the island counter though, shuffled barefoot in his jeans and holey _Journey_ t-shirt. His hair was a mess, like always, with one, no two, no three thick waves of it hanging in his eyes untouched. The details he emitted were wild and I noted every last one of them. I was good at focusing on details in the middle of utter chaos. Like the way the muscles of his chest barely moved under the thin cotton of his old grey shirt, the way his jaw cracked at the seams with hesitation and minimal stress relief, and the way he knelt down in front of me on the glass and coffee covered tile floor, with one hand on my leg, the other holding my cheek and his shoulder pinning the phone still to his ear.

I saw a million things all at once, things that a dead person shouldn't be able to see.

"Yes." He finally answered back, the fierceness rising in his tone again. "I'd like to speak to your editor in charge please…_Ed-i-tor_, I want to talk to whoever is running your goddamn office. Do you understand?"

I could hear a timid, almost frightened young woman's voice on the other line and then he shot back at her, "This is Mort Rainey. The writer whose wife apparently died in my bed last night without my knowing about it."

I wished I could have laughed, the way he spoke to her, the sarcasm that radiated from his pouty lips when it came to things like this. Although, it never came to things as absurd and freakish as this.

"Un-_fucking_-believable." He shook his head low with a growl and I held his hand reassuringly. "Times' bastards. From impossible crosswords to this…"

Okay yeah, that one made me giggle past the frightened tears a little.

He looked up at me and brought my face down to his closer, whispering, "I'm going to fix this."

"You're going to bring me back from the dead?"

I was glad then, to finally see a tiny smile from him. "That's what husbands are for, babe."

"Right," I murmured back and kissed his lips softly before the woman returned to the phone.

"Great," Mort replied to her toughly, "Connect me to the fuck-up already."

* * *

Two hours. I gave the_ New York Times_ two hours of my life, added onto the countless hours I'd ever wasted on their crosswords. I sat on the phone with the editor, the publisher, and just about every person who'd ever invested a single penny into the printing of their internationally distributed news. I gave every one of them a piece of mind too, before finally being assured that the story would be re-written with a public apology and extensive coverage (five star reviews included) of Roxanne's next novel.

It wasn't near to being enough, but I was tired of talking to them.

I ended the conversation, cleaned up the plenty sticky mess of coffee on the floor, and then went for a difficult hunt through the villa for the supposed ghost of my wife. She wasn't downstairs, on the balcony or on the veranda, and upstairs was deathly quiet too.

I called for her, "Rox?" But got no answer in return.

Something on the floor near the front door though, a paintbrush, gave me somewhat of a clue. I raced out of the house and onto the gravel, vine grown drive to see the Ferrari still sitting there. _So she walked…_I looked back and forth around all sides of the property and saw only one of the men from the villa down the road. He smiled and walked toward me on the path through town, but I stopped him.

"Sir, hi. I'm sorry. Did you happen to see a woman, my wife, walking nearby anywhere?"

I gestured and his eyes followed where my hands flew around. He shrugged at first and I sighed, but then, as if he had been struck with a memory, his eyes lit up and he pointed in the direction down the path he was following.

"She went that way, signor. With," he made the movement of a brush stoke with his hand and smiled at me.

"Paint. She went to paint?"

"Si, si."

I nodded gratefully and patted him on the back. "Grazi, thank you!"

And then I ran down the dusty and overgrown path to where I could hear the distant sound of the ocean for at least a mile or more. She'd lost her cell phone on the cliffs the day before, or I would have called her. So I went on nothing more than the local man's words and pointed finger, until I saw movement through the thick green rose bushes, and heard music blaring wildly.

_Bon Jovi. At least some things still make perfect sense. _

I shook my head with a laugh and bolted into the clearing where she stood, with her back turned and facing a small perched canvas on the rocks overlooking the south Mediterranean bend. She was focused, intent on the swirling motion of her brush with the blue and green paint she had splattered against the white. I hadn't seen her paint in a few years. It was a trade she picked up long before I knew her, one that was always settled somewhere in the back of her mind, but seldom emerged unless it was provoked with stress or fear.

_Seems like a perfect day for her to pick up a brush again. _

I caught my breath and walked quietly in from behind her, hands on my hips, eyes wandering over her shoulders to watch what she was doing. Her bare feet kicked up leaves and sandy dirt, her jeans were covered in paint already, and her back, where it was revealed by her draping purple tank top, called out to me.

So I walked towards it, like a fly to light, and gently touched my hand to her skin. She didn't jump nervously. She just leaned into the sensation, breathing in and out, as I stepped closer and wrapped my arms completely around her waist.

"Sweetie? You okay?"

She rested her head on my shoulder, the brush moving limply from the canvas.

"I think I've been better."

"Yeah. Me too."

"At least the world still thinks you're alive."

I kissed her head and hugged her tighter with a laugh.

"They're going to publish a re-write tomorrow. _And_ endorse your work for the rest of your life."

She laughed then, shaking her head at the complete silliness of the entire thing.

"I'm surprised your brother is the only one who's freaked so far."

"Time difference. Don't worry…the calls are well on their way."

"Right."

She shrugged and stood up straight again with her brush, steadying her weight on the good leg and re-focusing on the canvas with the intensity of a Jedi. I smiled and sat on the rocks, eyeing her curiously as she went about stroking the white with colors, doing nothing but thinking and humming the words coming from the old radio beside me.

I wasn't sure when I missed the onset, but after a few minutes, I could hear her crying and looked up to see the tears streaming down her face in the afternoon sunlight. She tried to wipe them away with the few paint free spots on her hands, but I pulled her between my legs instead and did the honors with the tug of my old shirt.

"Someone wants me dead," she mumbled under the cotton and my roaming hands, "Someone's trying to get rid of me, Mort."

_Great, what do I say to that? Do I tell her about the paper I found attached to the rock the night we fled? Do I tell her that it's all I've thought about since we got here? Shit._

"I'm not going to let them."

Her face tossed back and forth in my hands.

"It won't matter what you do. _Eventually_…"

"There's no _eventually_." I replied forcefully, holding her face still to look straight down at me. "I'm going protect you, I've always protected you. I won't let these bastards anywhere near you."

"But they--"

"Sh." I covered her mouth with my hand and pulled her against my chest, swarming her with my arms for safety and trying to calm her sobbing. "If they want you, they're going to have to go through me first. And there's no way that's happening. You hear me?"

There was no response, just a tilting, crying head on my shoulder that agreed in utter silence.

"Whoever's doing this, can just fuck around with _me_ instead."


	16. The Best Day

**Chapter 15: The Best Day**

* * *

We spent the rest of that afternoon and night and the next morning for that matter, tangled up between the sheets of the bed in the blue room of the villa. We drank wine and shared an entire dish of tiramisu and made love until we'd completely forgotten the outside world, like usual. I guess we were subconsciously setting out to prove that no one, neither of us, were anywhere near to being dead. The absurdity of it had brought us all the more closer together though, like most everything in our tragically unexpected lives.

Our soundtrack was whatever decided to spill out of Roxanne's iPod and through the speakers in the room. We must have sung along to three hundred or more songs by the time the sun came up, everything from _Eric Clapton _to _Prince_, _James Taylor_ and even a couple of _Stix_ songs.

And I don't think either of us had laughed so much in the last five years. It was like meeting at the starting point again, where we first came together and blended in that fun loving sort of way. It was odd, but exciting, and I'd made her forget all the bad stuff, finally. That was all that mattered to me.

But somewhere between the lyrics to _Cheeseburger in Paradise _and the last spoonful of lady fingers and chocolate, she crawled up my body under the sheets and rested on my chest, eyeing me seriously.

"Uh oh, am I in trouble now?"

It was the same stern look I'd seen her give to Max when he breaks something.

"No. There's just something that's been bothering me."

"What's that?" I asked, rubbing her crossed arms on my chest.

"The other day, when we were in Naples…"

"Yeah…?"

"I came to meet you at the restaurant and," she paused and shifted her eyes, like she was nervous to talk about the subject in question, too nervous, "there was a girl."

Her eyes were searching mine intently for something in the early light of day.

"She was pretty."

I thought about it, a girl, the restaurant, and then suddenly it hit me, _Catalina_.

"She was just a fan."

"A _pretty_ fan."

"So what's your point?"

"Nothing," she turned over and rested on the mattress next to me, staring at the ceiling the same. "She seemed to be drawn to you. That's all, just my usual curiosity."

"_Oh boy_…"

I sighed and flipped onto my stomach, hovering over her as she looked up at me.

"What?"

"I am in trouble."

"Why? You didn't do anything. _Right_…"

"No. I didn't do anything."

"Okay then," She smiled and stroked my cheeks, "That's all I need to know."

I shook my head and kissed her bared stomach and hipbone.

"Did I ever tell you, you're rather _sexy_ when you get jealous?"

Roxanne rolled her eyes and leaned on her elbows.

"I'm not jealous. I'm used to you getting hit on."

"Well likewise."

"Oh please…"

She tried to sneak away from under me and get out of the bed, but I caught her in the sheets and pulled her right back down to the mattress, straddling and pinning her as she laughed.

"Don't think for a second that I didn't see right through Mr. Leprechaun's _honorable_ exterior."

"What are you talking about?"

"What's his name, _Roux? _He's plenty let down to know you're married. Trust me."

"I seriously doubt that."

I held her hands over her head on the pillows and leaned down to plant wild kisses all along her neck and jaw and chin, making her giggle to believe me.

"Don't doubt his smiles for a second, baby. He would have just loved to keep you all bandaged and bruised in _his_ bed, I'm sure."

With a tiny nibble on her right breast, she shrieked with a laugh and pushed me down to the bed beside her, still arguing the truth.

"You're insane, and drunk. _And_ jealous for that matter."

"Okay, so you caught me. I'm jealous that he got to hold your attention and save your life for an _entire_ afternoon, while I was stuck alone thinking about you. Yeah, I am."

I watched Roxanne struggling to inch her way over my body again with her bad knee, to hold me down under her skin to skin weight. When she was comfortable and leaning up on my chest, narrowing her gaze down at me with a tight grin, she whispered to me.

"Alright, I'll admit I'm jealous too then. I hated seeing you with that girl. The way she touched your arm and laughed with you and the way she kissed you."

I remembered the way Catalina's lips had burned my skin, leaving the imprint of a foul and unfair memory behind. A memory that I shouldn't still have. I ignored the tingling on my cheeks and focused on Roxanne's moving lips and eyes.

"She looked like tough competition."

"Tough comp--" I nearly choked and twisted my brow at her, "…you're crazy."

"No I'm not. She had you hooked for a second, I saw it."

"No she didn't."

"Yes. She did, Mort."

_God it's a bitch knowing she's actually right. I hate that. It's not fair to her. _

"What's her name anyway?"

_Ah, the million dollar question. What's the other woman's name? Shit, is she even the other woman though?_

I held her face in my hands softly and examined her eyes for a hidden motive. None.

"Catalina."

She nodded with a smile, "That's a pretty name."

"I guess."

"Why don't you just admit it's a pretty name? Come on."

I growled at her and shut my eyes to try and drown out the pointless conversation. Roxanne was going to push the information about Catalina, what little I had at that, until she was completely paranoid for the rest of the trip. It wasn't healthy, or worthwhile for that matter. I was hers alone.

"Let it go. I'm never going to see her again. She's a fan, she likes the books. That's it, honey."

She kept her gaze pinned until I opened my eyes again and she was only smiling.

"Okay."

"Okay," I agreed as the subject was dropped entirely. "Now come here, I want to do something."

I held her carefully and turned her over one last time on the mattress, reaching across to the bedside table at the same time for a sharpie marker I had left there the day before. I pulled it open and got comfortable with my arms wrapped around her waist and pulling away the sheet to reveal her bare top half to me in the sunrise light of the room.

"What are you doing with that?"

"Just lay still."

Doing as she was told, she began to giggle when the felt tip of the marker hit the skin beneath her breasts.

"_Mort_…"

"Relax. There's a point coming."

"When?"

I laughed and finished with the two clearly printed words, _BOY_and _GIRL__, _under each breast on her stomach. She tried to lean to see what was written and I explained.

"We need to name this poor, _endangered_ kid before it gives up all hope in the world."

"It's barely a kid yet. More like a tadpole, you know."

I smiled at her teasing and kissed her navel gently.

"_Whatever_, I just want the tadpole I created to have a name before something else goes wrong."

"Do you think it's a boy or girl?"

"Don't know. But that's why we have two lists."

She raised her brow at me and settled back down on the bed, her mind seeming to wander away quickly into a mental shuffle of names, same as mine was. We were in silence for a long time, and while I attempted to inspire my mind with tiny black hearts drawn all along her inner thigh, she was the first one to break the quiet with a suggestion.

"How about, _Emma _if it's a girl. And _Evan_, if it's a boy?"

"Those are good. And if we end up with twins again, we'll be all set."

She laughed and went back to thinking hard while I began the list, tickling her.

Finally I came up with one, "What about _Dylan_ for a boy?"

"Dylan, as in _Bob _or _Thomas_?"

"Either. Dylan is Dylan right?"

She nodded with a smile and I added _Dylan_ to the list.

This continued for an hour or more, until the sun was high in the sky, the bed sheets entirely warm, and Roxanne's stomach was covered in black ink from the valley of her breasts to the inner curve of her hips. The list wasn't half bad either, and she actually refused to wash it off when we finally started to move out of bed in the middle of the afternoon, some 25 hours later.

She threw on my white button up dress shirt and left a few of the lower ones undone to admire the black ink artwork and never-ending possibilities for our child's name.

"It's your best sharpie note yet," and then she glanced up at me, almost pouty and said, "But I didn't get to draw on you."

I held out the dried up marker with a smirk, "Have a go if you must."

"No," her eyes lit brightly and she pulled fast at my arm, before I could even get dressed. "I have a better idea."

She hurried me through the villa, wrapped in nothing but a sheet and her in nothing but my long shirt. We made it downstairs, with her hobbling and me struggling not to trip on the linens and soon enough made it out to the vine hidden, sun kissed veranda.

"Stay here. Don't move."

By the time I could even work up the breath to ask where she was going, she was gone back inside. I stood there, tying a knot in the sheet at my lower waist and looking out over the view of the Mediterranean like it was a postcard and little more. I was running on nothing but Merlot and Italian dessert, and somehow, it seemed to be the only energizing that was required for a day like this. _The best day ever_, I thought, leaning over the rail of the veranda just as my view was blocked out by something being tugged over my eyes.

"What are you--?"

"This is to keep you from peeking at my masterpiece."

"You're _masterpiece_…"

"Yeah, now come here."

Roxanne pulled me blindly back across the veranda floor until I felt her helping me down to the ground, where she had ripped the sheet off of my body and laid it down. I shook my head, relaxed back where she told me to, and tried to imagine what it would look like if someone could actually see into the villa deck just then. A naked man, blindfolded with a half naked woman ordering him around. _Probably a common thing around here, _I laughed to myself.

"Stay still."

"Yes ma'am."

I gave a salute and scratched my stomach before I felt a trickle of something cold and slimy run down my chest, navel and legs, and heard her laughing quietly overhead.

"I swear; you and syrup woman."

"It's not syrup. Don't move."

"Yeah, yeah."

Another moment passed by before I felt something smooth but rough, like bristles, moving across my skin and mixing with the path of goo. And then it hit me and I smiled under the bandana.

"Ah, of course. She's _painting_ me."

Roxanne sighed with a giggle and straddled me, despite the fact that she was immediately covered in what I was. She stroked the paintbrush over both of my shoulders, leaning down and whispering in my ear, "You're my _Sistine Chapel_."

And then I noticed the bandana being lifted slightly from the bottom, just enough for me to catch a peek of her green eyes in the daylight with her smile.

"Do your worst, Picasso."

She rolled her eyes, replaced the blindfold, and kissed my lips softly before replying, "Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel. Not Picasso."

I shrugged under her paint strokes, "So I officially know nothing about art."

"And I love you for it."

She went on, mixing what certainly felt like different colors, twirling the brushes into random shapes and sensations and pressures on my skin. I knew she was focused on the details just by the way she remained absolutely silent for minutes at a time, breathing softly over my body and touching as lightly as possible. It was probably the most amazing thing, the most romantic, I'd ever experienced with her or anyone else. Maybe it was the wine and tiramisu mattress fest, or the sound of the Italian atmosphere blindly surrounding me, or the way she was proving herself to be the most fun woman in the world, _ever_, over and over again, without my help in any of it.

I didn't need to be reminded, but if she really did, then I was here to play the part of her canvas.

It felt like hours. Peaceful, relaxing hours of course, getting a suntan and being painted and touched and kissed under a complete trance of darkness and naivety. It was brilliant, and when it was over and I was being helped to my feet, still blindfolded and confused, I sort of pitied my startled mind. I missed the uninterrupted peace of it all.

"Ready to see?"

"Should I be scared?"

"It's just _me _we're talking about, sweetie."

"Precisely my point," I chided and let her lead me inside to the bathroom, where there was a full length mirror wall awaiting my eyes. We stumbled together, injured and blind in front of it, and she slowly untied the bandana from my face.

"Ready?"

"Ready, Dali."

I imagined her rolling her eyes at that one, but before I could imagine much else, I was seeing a whole lot more in the reflection provided for me. _Dear God, _I thought humorously, eyeing my nude, rainbow form up in the mirror, _the woman's made chaos out of a previous mess. _There were ocean waves on my stomach, stars lining my arms, hearts dabbled across my thighs and of course, she had left no stone unturned in making sure than my firm and pleading manhood was painted like a Popsicle.

"So…?"

I saw her tiptoe around me, wearing my shirt like a cocktail dress, splattered and smeared with the same colors as me, red and blue paint drizzled along her hands and green and orange blotted all over her knees and bare feet in the mirror. I smiled and then tilted my head back toward her.

"One question."

"Yeah?"

A wicked smirk formed on my lips and then one did on hers the same as she looked up at me.

"If I screw you right now, is it all going to smear?"

She laughed and pulled back on my shoulders, inching in a limp toward the glass shower doors.

"Why don't we test it out and see."

"I like where your heads at…"

With a tumble into the sunny, tiled corner of the shower, she shut the door, turned on the faucet, pushed me against the wall and grabbed hold of my cock, squeezing tight and whispering on my lips, "I like where yours is at too."

I ground my teeth together joyously and managed to turn the control over, pinning her to the opposite wall and letting her continue stroking the heated flesh as I groaned out, "I bet I can think of somewhere better to put it."

"Oh yeah, where's that?"

"Well," I joked, reaching down to move her hand away and locked it onto the wall above her head, "Since you decided to paint my unsuspecting dick like a summer time _treat_…"

She bit her lip carefully, eyeing me suspiciously as I moved hard between her wet thighs and lifted her up around my waist.

"…I guess I get to return the favor."

"And how are you going to--"

No time to answer or finish speaking. I gave her little opportunity before thrusting as richly as I could within her, to the place that was sweet, and wet, and welcoming at all corners of my life. What the hell did I need a girl like Catalina for? I had this, and I didn't have to work for it as much as I had to work to keep it safe and sound and with me at all times. And that was well worth the fight.

Roxanne's fingers dug into the melting rainbow swirls on my neck and shoulders as I lifted her higher at the wall, tearing open the forgotten, borrowed shirt she wore and throwing it down in a sopping heap to the bottom of the shower floor at my feet. Between her inked stomach of black names and hearts, and my entirely stucco and artisan mold grinding hard upon hers, we were some kind of crazy match for one another.

She laughed and I knew everything was right with the world. Only Roxanne laughs in the middle of a powerful and passionate session of lovemaking. The water covered us with the steam, and all I could feel in the whole universe was the pressure building against her inner most walls, tightening around my demanding and pumping cock, asking me to go deeper, begging me to trigger her release for the hundredth time since yesterday.

"Mort…" _yeah that's my name. A moan. I know what to do with that. _

I forced myself as far inside of her as could be managed, and with a handle on the soaked slight of her thighs, her back slid against the tiles and the paint from my body stamped her breasts with every color imaginable, and some that were completely new to me in that moment in time.

My jaw shifted with the strength it took to control the situation, to keep firm footing on the wet shower floor, and to do everything she was asking of me, without every opening of her mouth, save for the screams and whimpers. Her entire body clenched down around mine, locked me in place right where I could feel the pulsating throb of sensational ecstasy within her. She wanted me nowhere but settled right upon that spot. So I stayed awhile and pumped lightly to get as deep and as close as possible, teasing what I couldn't see but could feel the same as paint and water and shaking limbs.

"Roxy," I groaned in her ear, hugging her tight to me, "Let go, honey. Just let it go…"

And like a couple of five year olds I know, she held onto me, shaking her head no. It confused me, her acting like that at the peak of pleasure, and I pulled away just enough to hold her face in my hand and kissed her tenderly on the lips, trying to reassure her of what she was missing out on.

"It's alright," I hummed against her mouth, tasting the sweetened water on her lips, "You don't have to hold on so much, just let it all go, baby."

Her eyes widened at the words and she watched me intently for the remaining thirty seconds of pleading time, before finally relinquishing what she was holding back on, and covering me in the warmest flow of peace I could have imagined for myself. Then, as she relaxed on my shoulder, I released my own delayed, but no less thrilled seed, to her and only her.

The laughing was over, followed strangely enough by tears. She hadn't cried all night or at all that day, but just then, they were rushing clear down her cheeks, mixing with the paint and steamy shower, turning her eyes a pinkish red as she slid down from me to stand weakly on one foot.

I caught my breath and held her softly.

"What's wrong? Talk to me."

She shook her head, _again with this. _

"Don't lie. Tell me."

"It's nothing," she replied quietly, "A little nausea, that's all."

"Too much wine for the baby," I shut off the faucet and stood dripping wet with her, "I'll get you some medicine and you can lie down for a while."

"I don't have any medicine with me," the sobbing subsided a little more.

"Well, tell me what you need, I'll run and get some."

At this she giggled and looked me up and down. I was still covered in paint, completely.

"You're not going anywhere for awhile. I'll go. You finish your shower."

"You sure? I can clean up quick. I hate to make you drive if you feel--"

She covered my lips with her fingertips and grinned away the last of her tears.

"I will be fine. Promise."

I nodded sadly and she moved her hand away, "I'll start dinner for when you get back."

"That sounds nice," she tiptoed around me, limping to where a towel hung outside the shower door and began to dry off as I watched her. Before she could turn out of the bathroom though, I reached and pulled on her hand, bringing her back to face up at me.

"Guess how much I love you."

Her smile twisted and she pondered it with a tired sigh for a second.

"Too much for your own good?"

"No," I shook my head to stifle a laugh, "More than you'll ever be able to guess. But nice try."

She rose up on her toes to reach my lips, kissed me soundly, perfectly, and then turned away in a flash. I stood there watching after nothing but the ghost of her steam rinsed body for a long time, before finally returning to my shower and cleaning off every last bit of paint I could find.

* * *

After I dried my hair and threw on a sundress and my shoes, I took off as fast as I could, hobbling all the way of course, to the car. I drove down into the south end of town where I'd seen a drugstore our very first day here, and I spent a while inside, stocking up on all kinds of pain meds, and vitamins, bandages for my wounds and pregnancy health stuff. Basically anything that Mort's mother had pointed out to me when were back at home.

I must have spent a decent thirty minutes inside the store alone before checking out and loading the small trunk of the Ferrari with my bags. I drove back to the villa slowly, trying not to put too much pressure on the gash in my knee that was stinging like mad and probably also because Carly Simon was playing on my iPod through the radio. I'm a sucker, like most hormonal women, for Carly.

By the time I pulled into the driveway a whole hour later, I was shouting out the lyrics to _You're So Vain_ in a completely uncompromising way, as tiny droplets of winter rain fell onto the windshield.

**"…_you had one eye in the mirror as, you watched yourself gavotte…and all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner…they'd be your partner and…"_**

I hit the wheel of the car and swallowed down two of the nausea pills with a bottle of water, not wanting to give up on the song just yet. It was too raw, too humble of a beat, too livening in too many ways for me to quit and go inside.

I laughed and shouted the chorus, **"_I had some dreams…they were clouds in my coffee…clouds in my coffee and…you're so vain…you probably think_--"**

Then, I was cut off by my own natural accord when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It was a bike, tilted against one of the pillars of the villa's front steps, rusting in the rain without much care. I knew it wasn't there when I left, so I assumed that someone must have come by, someone Mort had met maybe, one of the locals possibly looking for shelter in the beating storm?

_Hmm. _I eyed it curiously for one more second before turning off the car, grabbing my purse, the pills, and then the bags from the trunk, all the while attempting without success to stay dry. I ran in a stagger to the steps and overhang, forcing my way into the warmth of the house mere seconds later.

I dropped my purse and a few of the bags near the door, kicked off my wet sneakers, lifted the bottle of wine I'd picked up and the car keys alone (for whatever unconscious reason perhaps), and slowly headed in towards the kitchen, where I could hear loud rock music, boiling water, and something else. It was faint, but it sounded like voices.

_Wonder what this lost biker looks like…_the thought was fair to me, especially since I'd seen the few people who lived around us, the local men and women, and they were all very interesting looking.

I was smiling when I turned the corner toward the archway of the kitchen, I remember this much. _I was smiling_. The bottle of wine swung at my side, with the keys twirling on my fingers in the other hand, as I gently began to call out before I got to the arch, "Honey, I picked up a bottle of white wine for the sa--"

_Sauce. THE SAUCE. That's what I wanted to say, right?_

Too bad I didn't get a chance.

I spun around the corner on my good leg, (still smiling mind you), and peered down into the kitchen to find my husband. Ladies and gentleman, I found him alright. And if can just state for the record, that as sick I was to have to ever leave the villa in the first place, to go and buy medication to ease my jolting, turning stomach, nothing will ever compare to the dizziness, the utter confusion and pain and queasiness I felt when I opened my eyes to the scene in that kitchen.

"_She was just a fan."_

Liar.

"_No. I didn't do anything."_

Screw you.

"_Guess how much I love you."_

I dropped the bottle of wine in a distraught crash of glass and liquid when I heard his voice in my head that third time. That too, mixed with the tangled web of half naked forms grinding together against the counter in the middle of the kitchen, all led to the next twenty seconds.

You'd think twenty seconds would go by in a flash. Maybe in a song it does. For example, I can distinctly recall the song that was playing when I saw all of this. The lyrics were halfway through the second chord of _Don't Stand So Close to Me_ by the Police. Go figure.

I don't know when the tears started, probably somewhere between seeing Mort push the dark haired, perfectly formed and curved and endowed Italian girl off of him from the counter, and the moment when he ran toward me, reaching out to take my hand, with the belt of his jeans torn and residing in the hands of his temptation.

"_Baby_…"

I guess it was at about 15 seconds that I began to step backwards, stumble, trip over glass and spilled wine and my own traitorous feet just to get back to the door I had once come from, so innocently. I wanted to leave and pretend it never happened. I wanted to pretend like I hadn't just spent the best day of my life, making love to my own husband time and time again for the last twenty some odd hours, only to be humiliated in the same house, on the same day, by another woman's ability to please him unfairly.

I don't know when twenty seconds came and went, but it felt like a well deserved lifetime.

_Yes, I believe I deserved what I had allowed to __**eventually**__ happen. _

Thankfully, the car keys were still hooked on my right index finger when I got to the door.


	17. Sympathizing Shelter

**Chapter 16: Sympathizing Shelter**

* * *

**"_I can't believe he would do this to you. After everything you've given him, two beautiful children. Is he out of his damn mind?!"_**

I shuffled on the wet sand near the side of the small road, looking out over the late afternoon sea behind me, while holding the aged pay phone to my ear and a Kleenex to my nose. My sister was probably the wrong person to call, since she'd been through this before with Robert. She was biased. She wanted to immediately categorize Mort with every man who'd ever robbed a woman of happiness by cheating. I didn't want to do that yet.

**"_Honey, what are you doing to do? Where are you going to stay?"_**

I sniffled into the tissue, breathed deep and then sighed.

"I don't know. I just started driving towards Naples, I'm almost there."

**"_Do you want me to find you a hotel room online from here? I can check you in."_**

"No, Sydney. Don't."

**"_You have to find a place to stay the night."_**

I let the tears fall into a fresh tissue and jangled the keys of the car for distraction, trying to think of something to do, somewhere to go until I could clear my head enough to go back and check to see if they'd ever made it to the bed together too.

The thought made me hit my fist on the phone booth as I startled myself into deeper tears.

**"_Roxanne…"_**

I heard my sister's motherly tone and caught myself with strength again, beating off the pain.

"I'm fine. I think I'm going to drive around for a while. I can find a place when I get there."

**"_Are you sure?"_**

"Yeah, I'm sure." I wiped my nose as she began to go off on a rant again.

**"_I never thought I'd get a phone call like this from you, about him. They are all the same."_**

I wanted to tell her, _No, Mort isn't like other men, he loves me_. But what the hell did I know at that point? I'd spent all day giving myself to him, picking out names for our new baby, being _fun_, painting him, making love to him until I was too sore to go on, and then he turned around and let Italy's answer to Angelina Jolie walk in and ruin it all, for a simple fuck.

"Syd, don't tell anyone about this okay. I need to deal with it."

Her sigh told me she hadn't planned on keeping the secret, but that she would regrettably anyway.

**"_I won't. But you shouldn't just give in to it either. You need to find that little whore and--"_**

"Yeah, yeah," I cut her off, not in any mood to hear her plan for revenge. It was too early for that kind of thinking. I needed to find answers first, reasons. "I'll figure it all out."

**"_Call me as soon as you get settled in a room, okay?"_**

"I will. Thanks."

I thought I heard her crying for me, but I wasn't sure. Sydney cried for me more than I cared to know I think, always worried, always terrified the sky was going to fall on me. Like a big sister, like the mother I never got to have growing up.

**"_I love you and take care of yourself, and that baby."_**

"That's all I'm doing. Promise."

**"_Good, I'll talk to you later."_**

I agreed and hung up the phone. The coins fell into the belly of the old beast as I opened the door and walked out into the road, heading back for the car. I must have blown my nose and wiped my eyes dry a half dozen times before finally turning the Ferrari on with a rumble, shifting the radio as high as it would go, rolling down the windows for the fresh air I knew I needed, and driving off in the direction of the Napoli coastline again.

Following the salt air and road signs into the city, I had to ask myself, as the songs on the radio shifted from one to the next, _why do sad songs have to play consecutively, without sympathy, whenever bad things happen in life? What the hell is the deal with that? _

I tried my best to get away from it, but it wasn't happening. The harder I forced the button on my iPod to change, to find something happy and worthwhile mood wise, the more it demeaned me and headed for the saddest of the sad, the most depressing of the letdown songs in this world. Every one that struck me was about infidelity. How does a radio know how to do that?

The Eagles, _Lyin' Eyes…_Carrie Underwood, _Before He Cheats…_Justin Timberlake, _Cry Me a River…_Marvin Gaye_, I Heard it Through the Grapevine…_

"Not you too, Marvin. Thanks a lot." I slammed the player down onto the floor and opted for complete silence. It felt terrible, of course, utter quiet always does, but at least I only had to be reminded of what I'd fallen victim to with my own fresh memories.

The inner city buildings whirled by in a hazy, early evening grey that I didn't recognize from our last trip here, and it only made me cry more. Thinking about that day we'd spent, on opposite sides of the same block, keeping secrets from one another for the first time in five years. It made no sense.

I wanted to go and have a seat at that restaurant, maybe in the same chair as _Catalina_, feel what she felt, try to imagine what she saw in my husband that day, what made her kiss him and touch him so sensually, what called her to him despite having easily seen his wedding ring, I'm sure. How does a woman do that? How can we as a sex and species be so apt to hunt down things that don't belong to us? Why do pretty girls like her have to prey on _apparently_ weak husbands?

I hated not knowing, but thankfully, didn't have to think about it too much longer. The tiny cobblestone road curved off from the high buildings and hit the deep afternoon light of the day again, just as the shining front end of the car moved in the direction of the Naples port. Something was taking me there, subconsciously maybe, beckoning me to where the colorful sailboats and fishing boats were lined up one by one.

In the back of my mind, I knew exactly what and who it was.

After parking the car along the edge of the street near the docks, I sat alone with the engine cut, crying out what little I had left in me and searching back and forth for the ivory green paint on that old wooden schooner I remembered. All of the masts and hulls and bows seemed to mesh together after a while of staring, and I ended up wiping my nose and eyes dry, grabbing my bag and then beginning to walk down the pier.

A few men smiled at me, obviously noticing my puffy eyes and sniffling, but I went on, hunting for the clover shaded boat among the hundreds of other colors. Luckily, it didn't take long for me to be right, and I could see it anchored and tied at the far end of the boardwalk. Roux had told me a few days ago, after he'd rescued me and sailed me back to the Positano beach that he usually docked in Naples overnight, since he often slept in the gallery during the winter.

"_Hot days an' cold nights. Ave' to bunk with me art. Keeps the thieves out."_

I smiled thinking about his words and blew my nose once more as I slowly traveled down the wooden dock toward his boat. It wasn't long at all, before I saw him, shuffling around at the stern with a large net, tossing it into the water and completely oblivious to me. I stepped down onto the plank leading into his boat and stood idly nearby, but far enough to have to call out to him on the other side as he lifted up the net again from the water.

"Catch anything?"

He was startled and flipped his face back at me, struggling to get the weighted net inside the boat. I felt bad for scaring him, but he grinned that same way as always, from the corner of his mouth.

"Come ere' and see, lassie."

I accepted the invitation and moved to his side, splattered with a spray of salt water as I assisted in helping him lug the huge, crab infested net over the side of the boat and onto the wood deck. They tried to escape and snap at the bare toes in my sandals and I shrieked as he laughed.

"Feisty little guys, eh?"

I smiled, finding my breath again. "How do you catch so many of them here at the docks?"

"Best place t' catch em'. It's where they like t' hide."

He tore open the net and began to toss them one by one into two large buckets of ice water. I watched for a few minutes from a safe distance, but eventually, he looked up and nodded for me to join in.

"Could use th' help."

"Oh," I felt stupid and rude. "I'm sorry."

He chuckled low as I knelt down in my dress and attempted to lift the crabs up one by one, avoiding all of their agitated and still snapping claws.

"So wot' brings ye all the way out ere' this time o' day?"

He threw what looked like the king of his catch into the bucket and the water splashed on us both, as we laughed. I thought of how best to answer him. I guess I could come out and tell him _exactly_ why I had ended up there, on his boat, at sunset, _alone _again.

"It's a long story."

"Not an excuse, cause I love long stories."

"It's boring too and self-consumed."

"Self-consumed of wot', of _ye_? That could be a nice change to hear."

I stopped tossing the crabs for a moment to stand tall and eye him as he continued to bend over and reach for them one at a time. Finally, I asked him what he meant by that, and he stood high too, playing with a baby crab as he looked directly down at me, smirking.

"I spend all day consumed in me own problems. Might be nice t' hear someone else's." He nearly had his thumb snapped off by the crab and he grunted and threw it into the smaller bucket as I giggled. "So let's ear' it, then."

"How much time do you have? _Really_? I don't want to interrupt."

"Well, I was about t' quit for th' day before ye showed. Then eat dinner. Wouldn't happen t' like shrimp alfredo, would ye?"

I smiled a little at his childish excitement with the question.

"I've never had it."

"_Oh_," he sighed, pitying me and rubbing his stomach as though he'd been hit, "Yer in for a treat. I'll cook an' _you_," he wiped his dirtied, sweaty brow with his sleeve and finished, "Get t' talk."

I nodded, "Deal."

But before I could stare into his eyes for longer than a single, glorious second or two, one of the smaller crabs nipped at the tip of my toe and I jumped back with a screech. Roux laughed and finished throwing the last of them into their prospective buckets of ice water, then took me by the hand and led me to the front end of the boat, where he had a nifty little outdoor kitchen all set up.

Centered about a wooden counter, there were stove burners, a small sink, and just about anything a single, gypsy man would need to cook for himself on a traveling spree. He noticed me limping on my bad leg still and gently lifted me, same as Mort had the day before, onto the workbench beside his cooking space.

He narrowed his eyes down toward my knee, examining the new bandage for a moment.

"Still urts' eh?"

"Yeah, it stings when I try to walk on it. But I think I'll be okay."

Roux smiled and softly brushed his hand over my bruised skin and whispered, "Good," before turning away and grabbing a handful of different things, including a bowl of iced shrimp, a searing pan, butter, dried pasta, and all kinds of seasonings and vegetables. I helped him sort through it and peeled the shrimp tails off one by one, as he reminded me of the deal we'd made.

"So… _'Once upon a time'_…" he teased with a wild and low smirk.

"_Once upon a time_," I chided, "There was a foolish woman who believed a lying man."

He stopped chopping the tomatoes at this and looked directly at me, not saying a word.

"I should have seen it coming. Especially after he told me her name."

I looked away embarrassed and peeled through the shrimp. Roux was quiet for a few moments; probably waiting for me to speak again as he shuffled around with handfuls of chopped veggies, tossing them into the sizzling grease of the pan. From the corner of my eye, as I finished with the bowl of shrimp, I watched him stirring together all kinds of beans and peppers and tomato slices, the smell intoxicating me completely, making me feel strangely at home. And that's when he spoke softly to me, asking a question I hadn't expected.

"Wot's er' name?"

I eyed him curiously for a moment and then replied in an angered, jealous tone, "_Catalina_."

He sneered at it, caught my eye again fast and shook his head. I was confused until he said, "Predictable, ain't it? We men always want wot' appears most foreign t' us, most mysterious."

He continued to stir the contents of the pan as I sat focused on his point, the one I felt coming.

"Let me ask ye something bout' this gal. Is she dark, with brooding eyes an' flirting sort o' hands?"

His second inquiry baffled the hell out of me, since he'd basically just described the woman I'd seen in the café toying all over Mort, and the same one who was ripping his belt from him in the kitchen at the villa earlier. It scared me that Roux had pinpointed her so well. _Did he know something?_

I nodded, sighed and fixed my dress a little, crossing my legs nervously on the bench.

"She's a lot more beautiful than I am. I know why he was suckered into her."

"Nah, ow' can that be possible? More beautiful than ye?"

I could tell he was flattering me and I smiled briefly, but couldn't let myself believe him.

"It's easier done than you think. She's young, and sexy, and _not_ pregnant."

He raised his brow at me and tossed the pasta into a new boiling pot, "Funny. I think that's wot' makes ye sexier than all th' other women round here."

"You're sweet, but you don't know how American men can think sometimes."

"Sure I do, same as Italian men, an' same as th' luckiest of Irish bastards. We're all th' same love."

"You sound like my sister."

"Smart lass," he grinned, stirring the noodles and handing me a glass of lemon tea. "Like ye. I'm sure your husband knows as much. Maybe e' just lost is' way, happens t' the best of us."

I felt like he was speaking from personal experience, of either his own or of having a woman who did to him, what Mort had done to me. I couldn't tell exactly, but it sure seemed as if he sympathized well with both sides of the issue. As if he'd seen the end result of something like my problem directly, and was both warning me and helping to heal me.

"What do I do?"

"Well, wot' _did_ ye do?"

"I ran."

"Did e' try to stop you?"

I nodded silently and sipped at the tea, peering over the glass at his understanding eyes.

"That's good then. Shows e' regrets it."

"But he shouldn't have anything to regret. Not after the _perfect_ day we spent together. I should be all he needs, I thought I was. He said I was."

I could feel myself getting worked up, the tears were welling back into my eyes and Roux placed his hand calmly on my cheek to soothe my nerves. I won't lie, it worked wonders.

"Then you are. Sometimes as humans, we slip through the cracks we make ourselves. Seems t' happens in the best o' marriages."

"But _why_? How?"

"I don't know. Fear maybe. Being 'fraid that it's too perfect, too right." He moved his hand away but left it resting on my knee, stroking his thumb over my skin lightly. "Maybe e' felt like something else was going t' happen, so he let the limit test him. Intuitively speaking o' course."

"Catalina is a _gorgeous_ limit, alright. Talk about luck."

Roux laughed a little and moved a strand of hair out of my eyes.

"If I had t' guess, I'd say he's nowhere near this Catalina girl right now." His eyes shifted when mine did and he looked solemnly, seriously into them, drowning me with the fiery black amber of his. "He's probably sitting alone, punishing himself over the guilt, missing ye…"

"Good," I replied quickly, uncaring although I knew I did. "And he's going to stay that way."

Roux didn't say anything else after that, he let me sulk over it as he finished cooking the pasta, adding in the shrimp and pepper sauce, and setting everything up on a small, candle and lantern lit table in the middle of the boat deck. Then he returned and carried me across to a chair, settling me down as he sat close by, incredibly close, _temptingly_ close I might well add.

It made me feel safe though and warm and happy again, which was something I didn't think I could feel so soon after everything I'd seen and been through that afternoon. As the sun sank down completely and left the Naples stars twinkling in the sapphire sky over us, as the delicious pasta and shrimp he'd made slid into my starving belly and filled me up with warmth, and as Roux looked at me from time to time, grinning like a romantic sort of fool and leaning ever closer with the furthering conversation and laughter, I didn't even think once about Mort or what he'd done.

It was pointless, to waste my energy sorting out the logistics of what he'd done with or to or on or under that girl. _Fine_, he wanted to test limits like Roux said, okay, whatever, _cool_. He needed to see that things could be worse than they already were at times, with the running and hiding, _great_. He was scared, like me, and took it out on my trust for him, _that's brilliant_.

Whichever the reasoning behind it, I was over deliberating and worrying. I was lost in Roux's soothing stories about fishing, and painting, and traveling. He consumed me with every bit of his gentle exterior when he lifted an old Gibson guitar from a nearby chair and began to strum on it lightly, eyeing me between notes and lyrics as he sang.

He winked and I smiled, leaning closer, "You paint, you travel, you save lives, you cook and play guitar…is there anything you _can't_ do?"

He laughed low and kept playing but answered with, "Plenty. I can't play th' bongos."

"Well, that's forgiven, because you play _this_ beautifully."

"And ye listen beautifully," he returned with a teasing grin, scooting nearer with the guitar, his chair, and his heavenly breath on my lips and nose.

"I really want t' kiss you, Roxanne."

With a shy turn of my head in another direction, I giggled, not expecting him to say such a thing.

"See wot' I mean. We're a selfish brood o' creatures, th' lot of us."

"Then I guess I'm selfish too," I whispered softly, turning my face up at his again, "Because I want you to kiss me."

"Ye don't mean it. Not after everything that's happened. You still love him, yer husband."

I nodded, not thinking of fighting the truth. "I do. But everything's gone sideways, Roux. Just like you said."

He smiled gently and stopped playing to reach out and hold my chin in his hand.

"Nothing makes sense anymore."

"An' kissing me will set th' planets back in orbit, will it?"

I sighed at his teasing and shook my head, "I don't know. But I hate to keep _not_ knowing."

"Alright then." He patiently sat up higher, moving his guitar away and pulling me all the more closer to him, cradling my legs on his lap and holding my face in his hands calmly, smiling down. "Tell me when you start to _know_ something, eh?"

I nodded innocently and watched with wide eyes as he lowered his face and his mouth down to mine, brushing his lips across, breathing me in instead of tasting me right off the bat. The faint hairs of his mustache tickled my chin and upper lip, like when Mort kissed me, but different, more foreign, more _mysterious_, like Roux had said of Catalina. _Was Roux my Catalina?_

I couldn't let myself think about it, not when I suddenly felt the pressure of his warm mouth cover mine, holding it captive as his wet lips pulled at my bottom one, sensually. I felt myself kissing him back, my hands moving of their own accord to hold onto his shoulders and pull him down harder into me. And he succumbed to it, letting me lead him with the course of action I wanted.

My lips parted for him and I could feel his warm breath enter my mouth long before his tongue did, waiting for mine to search his out, waiting for me to make all of the silent judgment calls. He was letting me test my own limits. He was teaching and proving the point of our earlier conversation so that I would understand why Mort had most likely done what he did.

_Isn't he? _I thought, when the tips of our tongues danced wildly around one another, putting an end to fair breathing or thinking or analyzing. I kissed Roux and he kissed me back when I asked for it, quietly, again and again, never letting go, never wanting to let go of something that felt this good, after all the bad I'd seen to lead me right into his arms.

I _knew_ I wanted to let myself fall into him, _willingly_. And I _knew_ I wanted to let him heal me tonight.

Whatever that meant anymore.


	18. Both Sides Now

**Chapter 17: Both Sides Now**

* * *

_Five more minutes and I'll get the kids up for school. _I sighed into the pillow and held Mort's arm closer to me as I felt him hugging my back like a perfect blanket. It made me smile and I kissed his hand where it was settled just under my chin. His hand ran through my hair and down my shoulder and arm, kissing lightly where it had touched. _Can I just…never move again? Please?_

I began to shift around in his arms, letting my eyes adjust to the dim morning light before finally opening them wide and looking up at his face. That's when I also remembered that I wasn't at home at all, that there were no kids here to wake up or drive to school, and that this wasn't my bed or my husband. This was someone else, the other man, the one that was temporary.

"Morning lovely."

Roux half smiled down at me and kissed my forehead.

"Good morning."

"Slept well, I ope'."

I nodded and curled into his warmth closer, not wanting to get up or leave or do anything but cling to the one good thing I could remember about yesterday. But then I thought about where my place was, whether I liked it or not, and I thought about the person who was probably waiting for me back in Positano, back at the villa. He screwed up, but I knew I had to go back eventually.

_Eventually_…how that one word can alter worlds.

"What time is it?"

As Roux shuffled around to reach over his head on a small shelf, I breathed him in, the salt and fish and sunshine that radiated from his skin. Then he pulled down his pocket watch, the one that had broken when he saved me, and opened it up in front of both our faces.

"I thought it didn't work anymore."

With a sideways glance, he smirked down at me, "I fixed it."

"Oh, you're a handyman too, huh?"

"If ye say so."

He examined the time more closely for a moment as I studied his facial expressions.

"Eleven ten."

I sighed and fell deep into the pillows and his arms again, exhausted just knowing I'd slept that late. Roux chuckled at me and tossed the watch aside, before half covering me on the lumpy, but comfortable bed, and kissing my nose, then each of my cheeks and finally my lips. I could sense in the way he did this though, just like the night before, that he had no intention of trying to steal me away from my life or Mort or anything really. He was only taking care of me, helping me to see some goodness in the evils of temptation.

It worked, I was healed.

"I need to go back."

"Yes," he agreed soundly, "You do."

I grumbled a little and rubbed my eyes, "What do I say to him? What do I do?"

"I think you'll figure it out when ye see im' again."

I shook my head, not sure he was right about that. But he insisted he was.

"You need t' hear his side o' the story, Roxanne."

"Oh, you mean all the juicy details of what they did together? No thanks."

"No…" he replied, sitting up and pulling me with him. I was still fully clothed in my sundress from the night before, still fully sheathed in innocence, to some degree. "Let im' explain. Ye might be surprised wot' you find out if you give him th' chance this time."

"I'm pretty sure I know the gist of it, Roux."

"All th' same, you need t' give him the opportunity, love."

He jumped out of the bed and I watched him change his shirt, thinking about how nothing had really happened between us at all. I wondered if Mort was thinking about me, about who or what or where I might have ended up at. I wondered if he thought I'd gotten revenge against him with some other man, or if he thought that man might have been Roux, based solely on his claim to jealously the morning before. Luckily for me though, there was no revenge to speak of. I didn't need it and Roux understood that.

Another moment passed and he suddenly leaned down with his fists planted into the mattress on either side of me, as his face and chest hovered to my height. He whispered on my lips soundly, making his point.

"You'll regret it if ye don't try t' fix this whole thing. Trust me."

I thought about his watch for a second, and how he'd somehow repaired the _sideways_ turn of it. I had to do the same. I agreed with him and nodded quietly under his dark gaze.

"Okay. I am a _beautiful_ listener after all, right?"

He brushed back my hair with both of his hands cupping my face as I stood to meet him, still limping a little.

"You are beautiful, yes. An' the best listener I've met before. He's a lucky man yer husband."

"Maybe you could remind him of that sometime."

Roux laughed softly and gently lifted me up to meet his waiting, wanting mouth. We kissed, only for the millionth time since the sunset the day before, and it never seemed to get old as much as it appeared to get sadder, knowing I had to go back to my life and he had to stay in his. He knew I loved Mort, I'd found myself saying it at least a half dozen times when I showed up here. He understood that I wasn't here with him to run away for good, or to travel the world with him, completely abandoning my children and my home.

No, that wasn't the point of this at all. If anything, I'd come to learn what I would be missing if I didn't go back and try to repair what was going all nutty. Especially since there was still someone out there who wanted me dead, someone closer than I really wanted to admit.

He carried me out to the deck of the boat, then up to the docks, and walked me slowly, as I hobbled along, back to where the Ferrari was parked on the street. I was teary eyed when he hugged me, kissed me longingly against the side of the car, trying to hang on for just a few more minutes. I knew this would most likely be the last time I saw Roux. I just sort of _knew_.

"Write me when ye get back home t' the states. Let me know how th' painting looks in yer house."

I smiled as he brushed away my tears one by one, "I will. I promise."

"An' make sure you take good care o' this baby, eh?"

"You have my word."

"Good," he wrapped his arms tight around me, lifting me off the ground in a swarming hug of laughter and crying and whispered promises. And then he helped me into the car with my things, watched as I shut the door, turned on the engine and buckled my seat belt. The last thing he said to me, before he patted the roof of the car and sent me on my way was, "Take care, _Roxy Love_."

I remember gasping briefly as he eyed me wickedly.

"How did you--?"

He cut me off with that same wild grin, "I'll explain it in a letter some time, ya?"

I shook my head, patted his stomach playfully from the open window of the car, and then took off down the street again, into the middle of Naples and beyond to the coastal road that would take me to the man who was somewhere waiting and wondering if I'd ever drive back at all.

_Surprise, surprise. _

* * *

**The day before…**

**(Mort's POV)**

* * *

I don't know why, but I couldn't stop smiling. When she ran out of the bathroom to get dressed and go to the drugstore, I felt a little piece of me burn out, like it always does when she leaves a room or closes her eyes at night. It's the not seeing her for however long that's always bothered me, in or out of danger.

I just hate not having her there.

After finishing the shower, rinsing off the excess pink and blue paint from places I could all but laugh at, I got out, dried and got dressed. I guess I didn't think she'd be gone too long, since I went straight down to the kitchen again. There was an old record player I'd found buried away on a shelf near the stove, with dozens of ancient cook books, half emptied bottles of wine, and every sort of music or foreign artist imaginable. I didn't recognize much, but there were some old Edith Piaf records in the mix and I knew how Roxanne had grown up listening to her stuff in her grandmother's house.

So I picked one and gently eased the needle onto the vinyl, letting it set into the scratches and tune. I knew the first song, her favorite surprisingly, _Mon Dieu, _a song about pleading, for love, for togetherness with the only person that means anything to you. _My God, even if I'm wrong, leave him to me a while…Even if I'm wrong, leave him to me still…_I understood why she liked it so much.

It was the only French either of us understood, in songs like those. And remembering that made me laugh and think of another time, another place when the topic had come up the same.

"_We're having a baby. We need a place to be for that right? Somewhere safe, somewhere no one will know Ben Miller, Mort or Roxanne, or whoever the hell we are. Somewhere like..."_

"_Mexico?"_

"_Hmm…too cliché."_

"_Yeah, true. Paris?"_

"_Do you speak French?"_

"_No. How about Cinnamon Bay?"_

"_What the hell is that?"_

"_It's a place in the Caribbean…a secret place. White sand…the bluest water you've ever seen…and no one around for a hundred miles…"_

The sensation of a sharp knife edge hitting the skin of my index finger brought me back with a wild grin. The record continued to play on, from one love song to the next, music that seemed out of place and at the same time completely appropriate for the mood that was set naturally in the kitchen. I worked over the stove constantly for what must have been twenty minutes or more, stirring pans of vegetables, bringing water to a boil with pasta, and fixing fresh garlic bread. Glass after glass of wine rolled into my stomach, since I assumed drinking myself to content before Roxy got back and had to sit and watch me jealousy over her one glass, would be smart.

I barely got the rim to my lips again or the pepper into the pan of sauce, when a knock at the front door stopped me and threw my attention from the music and the stove's heat. Roxanne wouldn't knock. I figured as much that it was one of our temporary neighbors, a curious local maybe, someone looking for something I probably wouldn't have any clue about.

I dropped the glass, the spoon and turned down all of the gas burners before going to answer it. The doorknob turned, the door flew back and standing there in the early drizzle of rain that I had hardly noticed before, was a girl. Well okay, I'll give the moment the benefit it deserves, she wasn't just a girl, she was a young woman, one that I'd had to convince myself of two other times prior, was a terrible threat to be ignored. This woman, with her pouty and rain sprinkled cherry lips, her flowery cheeks and smile, her violet eyes that were completely unfair on me…

"Catalina."

"Morton," her delicate accent changed the context of my name entirely. _It's not right._

"What are you doing here?"

"I was uh…" she paused and shifted around in her damp sundress to point at the bike she had parked halfway under cover, against the pillar of the steps, "…caught in la pluie, the _rain_."

I nodded with a half dropped jaw, unaware of it really. She smiled up at me and wiped the drops of rain from her nose.

"Could I possibly--"

Her gesture toward the inside of the house made me jump into reality again. I felt like a real moron for not realizing what she was trying to ask of me.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," I stepped aside quick as she giggled, "Come in, please. I'll get you a towel."

She whispered and stepped in, "Grazi."

I directed her toward the kitchen where I knew it was more than warm enough and then I ran off toward the hall near the bathroom, where a cupboard was stocked with fresh towels. I grabbed one, purple, _not because her eyes have that violet haze in them or anything, _and made my way through the rooms back to where I could see her standing near the stovetop, trembling.

"Here, this should help."

She turned with that same simple smile and those wide eyes as I handed her the towel.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

I stood there motionless to be quite honest, since she wouldn't let me go. Not physically, just mentally, with those serious eyes that seemed to say a million different things at once. I wanted to know what they were telling me for some reason, even though the entire time I kept telling myself, _don't be stupid. This is stupid. You are stupid for letting this poor, wet little creature in here. Fool._

Finally I snapped out of it and moved around her to the pasta that was boiling over. I managed to strain it completely, rinse and reheat by the time she'd finished drying the excess rain from her hair and neck and arms.

"I'm sorry. Did I interrupt _la cena_? Your dinner, with your wife?"

"No, no of course not. She went to the store. I'm playing chef that's all."

"Ah," she replied with a teasing smirk as she leaned on the counter, watching me mix things together and spoke in that rich Tuscan tone, "Siete un chef delle cinque stelle. Five star restaurante, no?"

"Hardly. I'm still in the process of learning. See."

I pointed to the cookbooks stacked up on the other side of the counter and she laughed out.

"Macaroni and cheese is a stretch most days of the week."

"Macaroni and cheese, a true Americano dish." She scrunched her nose up and then moved a little closer as I dropped the pot of spaghetti to the burner, eyeing her. "And yet you seem so very comfortable here to me. In this place, Italia."

"Do I?"

"Si. You like it here don't you?"

With a tight, cautious smile, I dropped the spoon and moved back from her a little, whispering, "I love it here."

"Will you stay? You and your wife?"

At this, I shook my head regrettably and said, "This isn't home. Our children are waiting for us back in Chicago."

"Aha…" she sighed understandably, smiling still though. I hadn't mentioned having children to her at all, and I saw a small spark fade in her eyes. I think I knew why too. "So this is only an adventure for you, yes? A time for new experiences…?"

Catalina stood away from the counter then and came toward me, quietly looking me up and down, never touching but doing plenty more than that with her eyes and breathing on my neck.

"What have you experienced then, Morton Rainey? Good food, a trip to Naples with _Roxanna_, your girl? What else?"

It was a single second that passed by, one I couldn't close or ignore no matter how hard I tried, when I suddenly watched her hand come at me, touching the buttons on my white dress shirt, toying with them, smiling at me.

"Haven't you had fun, yet?"

"_Catalina_…" I warned her, but she wasn't having it.

"You look scared. Li spavento? I don't mean to scare you." She unhooked a few buttons before I even realized that she had me nearly pinned to the counter's ledge, leaning against me with the weight of a feather, a feather with sinful lips and fiery breath. "It's just, you are too handsome a man, don't you see? I cannot help but to be drawn to you, _attached_…_curioso_."

"Curious," I gulped and tried to move her hands from my chest as she tore open my shirt, "You can't be curious. You can't be here, Catalina."

"You invited me in, yes?"

"To dry off."

My eyes grew stern as I got back some control, but she just winked at me and let her lips glide over the skin on my chest, looking deeply up at me and whispering back, "Then _help me_ dry off."

Before I could protest her request, one of my secrets, one I'd tried to hide, was discovered by her tiny hand as she rounded over the bulge in my jeans, forcing me to bite my lip to keep from revealing any emotion to her. I couldn't let her know. I couldn't let myself know just how much I wanted her then, how much she had done to tear away the truth of the perfect day I'd spent with Roxanne, and turn it upside down, inside out, into something completely unfair and pleading.

"She doesn't have to know."

I heard that whispered against my neck as she squeezed harder on the front of my jeans and began working with my belt, and I nearly died. Not because it was sexy or attractive to hear, but because I knew then, when those words were spoken, that I actually _didn't want her. _

"Catalina, come on. I won't do this to her. Stop."

But she didn't, because women never stop when they're told to. Not women like her anyway. She had my shirt off before I could breathe again, and she was ripping my belt from the loops of my jeans at about the same moment that I heard the front door slam shut.

Catalina gasped from surprise but didn't move away from me.

I turned my head as I heard the voice of a third party coming close, but of course, I couldn't move from pure shock, from guilt and regret and all those shitty feelings that I felt rising up.

"Honey I picked up a bottle of white wine for the sa--"

_Sauce. _I completed the statement for her in my mind. _THE SAUCE. Sauce for this pasta I just spent an hour making for you, for me, for __us__. NOT for Catalina. _

No more than a single second passed before I was facing not only her, but the bottle she spoke of, and the biggest mistake I'd ever made.

* * *

I wasn't really sure where my mind had wandered off to by the time I rounded the gravel corner of the narrow street, pulling into the vine hidden drive of the villa. I wasn't sure what I'd find, or how I would feel when I saw it again, or even if I would want to get out of the car once I made it. But making it there was half the effort. It was what I knew was right.

The car wasn't even in park when I noticed from the corner of my eye, Mort, sitting ten yards away on the front steps. His head was hung low and masked where it rested on his crossed arms, which were laid upon his propped knees, holding a half burned cigarette.

_Oh wonderful, _I debated as I let the car sit idly running, watching him, _back to smoking. _

He didn't move at all and neither did I for that matter. I sat there, with the radio playing softly, the air conditioner keeping me cooler than he looked in the boiling winter sun he was under, and my fingers tapping on the wheel I still held onto.

I thought about what Roux had said the day before. _"If I had t' guess, I'd say he's nowhere near this Catalina girl right now. He's probably sitting alone, punishing himself over the guilt, missing ye…"_

And so he was. Two points for the mediating gypsy.

I gave myself all of another minute, until the song that was playing and Damien Rice's voice died out peacefully, until I murmured a, "Fine" under my breath and shuffled to get out of the car. I came back the same way I went, in my sundress and bare feet, with only minor wrinkles from sleeping in the arms of another man.

I stepped onto the sandy gravel driveway, shut the door of the car, locked it, sighed, turned for the villa's front steps, and never kept Mort from of my peripheral vision. The surprising thing was, he never moved at all, as if he were set in stone, frozen in guilt for all of eternity. He was never like this when he felt bad about something, or meant to apologize to me, or hated himself for hurting me. He was always quick to rise up, like a shunned dog, tail between his legs and a panting smile on his face.

_Not this time. _

I scratched the hair off of my nose and walked steadily towards him, thinking and analyzing the slumped sitting position he was in. The last bit of smoke from his cigarette blew through his messy, unwashed hair, staining it. His bare feet were worn and dirty looking, as if he'd spent all night pacing this driveway in the dark, on these same wind-blown steps, waiting to see if I would come back.

Reaching down carefully as I stepped before him, I took the cigarette butt and crushed it on the tiled step beside him, noticing how he was slightly nudged awake by the action. His hair rustled under his hand as he held his head, most likely aching, and inched it higher and higher, veiled by the unruly locks of chestnut and gold, with a single eye open within, looking up at me.

"How long have you been out here?"

There was no remorse in my tone, just flat sarcasm.

"A while," he sighed with a tired grumble, wiping the hair from his face as I sat down beside him, but far enough down the step to make a point of it. "You actually came back."

I nodded quietly, staring at the random bits of grass under my bare toes.

"You've been out here all night haven't you?"

Mort turned his face towards mine and with hazy, understated eyes just nodded the same.

"That's stupid."

"Why?"

"Because it is," I snapped with an angry bite in my voice. "You look like death."

"I _feel_ like death, honey."

_Honey. _I was surprised at how good that sounded, despite what I was ready to feel.

"Maybe you should," I finally chided.

"Can't argue with you there. I won't."

"Regret. Guilt. That's what this is?" I picked up the cigarette butt and threw it at him with a snarl.

"No." His eyes were fierce but soft, admitting, "That's _fear_."

"Fear of what?"

"Of you never coming back."

"Why wouldn't I come back, Mort? Do I look that predictable to you?"

He sighed with a microscopic grin and said simply, "No. You don't."

"So why smoke? Why sleep out here, waiting for headlights? Is that why you made love to another woman in the middle of the kitchen you were cooking _our_ dinner in?"

"I didn't--"

"Right." I interrupted him clearly, rose from the step and walked off across the driveway, arms crossed and ears open to any responses that might come.

"Roxanne, you can hate me. Hell, I welcome the challenge. I deserve it."

Stopping in the middle of the drive, I stood looking out on the vines and forested growth surrounding the property, just listening to his voice in the breeze.

"You can hit me. Come here, take a swing."

I could hear him get up. I could hear his toes crunching on tiny stones and sand the same as mine. He was coming closer.

"But I'm _not_ going to let you think for one more second, that what happened in there yesterday, was my idea. And I'm _not_ going to let you think that I had any intention of knowing it would happen."

My fists gripped into tight balls at my sides as I shot a glance back at him over my shoulder.

"Half undressed and making the effort to stop it, huh?"

"Half undressed because _she_ undressed me."

His voice was getting higher, but I kept mine level. I didn't want to yell. It solved very little.

"Catalina undressed you?"

I asked the question solemnly, steadily as I turned and walked back towards him, reaching his place on the drive and stopping when there was no more than an inch between us.

"She broke into the villa, held a gun to your head and took your clothes off?"

"No."

"Then what? How did it happen?"

I think I scared him, made him nervous, like I usual did when I was peaceable during a raging fit.

"It was raining."

"I know."

"She was on a bike. She came to the door and knocked. I offered her a towel and invited her to stay until it cleared up again."

"Assuming I would be back from the store any minute?"

"_Yes_," his shoulders slumped from lack of sleep, his eyes drooped under his glasses and he just looked down at me, pleadingly so.

"So," I leaned in even closer to him, pressing my body against his without hands and breathing on his neck as I asked, "When exactly did she decide to use _you_ for a towel instead?"

"Probably somewhere between her finding out I _wasn't_ staying in Italy to abandon my family…and the point where I told her _no_. She didn't seem to like that word."

"I bet she didn't."

Yeah, so I was taunting the situation, like a cat pawing at a mouse in a hole it can't catch. I had nothing to catch here, no one to blame except the girl who wasn't around apparently. But lord knows I kept trying.

There was a long moment of silence, where I attempted to contain my tears while he attempted to reach out and touch me. Only one of the two actually happened, and I didn't need his help to wipe away tears, not yet anyway.

"Tell me something then," I sniffled back the pain of the question that was on the tip of my tongue, looked him square in the eye and whispered, "Did she have you half undressed because she was _finished_ with you, or because I interrupted her one chance?"

Mort steadied his feet, peering down into my eyes with sadness, a weakness I know I'd never seen before. It wasn't the way he looked when he'd been shot at, or nearly killed, or any of that. It was a lamenting depression.

His lips moved when the words began to form properly, and I was ready, ready to hear him tell me the truth. He took a firm, yet gentle hold of my arms and pulled me close to him, breathing down my brow, my nose, and to my mouth.

"Sweetheart, I ne--"

There, cut off. A ring from a pocket somewhere. He tried to ignore it, I did, as he brought his eyes back to mine, focused with words.

"Everything with Catalina yesterday, I di--"

The ringing was incessant, a tune that under any other circumstance would be ignored completely. If we weren't fighting, if we weren't on the verge of cracking in two, if I wasn't getting a confession or a denial or a _something_ from my assumed-to-be cheating husband.

"Just answer it," I growled, still hugged to him with one arm as the other snaked around to his back pocket, pulling out the phone.

"It's my mom."

In all honesty, I thought nothing of it. She had called every day around this time to check on us, during her breakfast. But when Mort flipped the phone open and pressed it to his ear with a sweet sounding, "Morning Mom," the response I could hear from the other line, wasn't anywhere near what I was used to.

It was frightened sounding, horrified almost, anxious and uncertain. I stood there, clinging to him suddenly, unconcerned with the previous issue when I saw the color fall from his cheeks and heard the silent shake in his voice as he spoke back to her.

"Breathe, Mom. You have to breathe, I can't understand you."

"What is it?" I whispered at him anxiously, but of course I went unnoticed.

"Mom. Listen to me. _What happened_?"

There was deep but nervous breathing as Mort looked down at me, wordlessly apologizing for everything he'd ever done wrong in the world, and then the response came.

**"_She was here. Whoever she is, she was in the house. She came and tried to take the children, both of them."_**

We stared at one another and at the same split moment shouted back into the phone, "_She_?"


	19. Home Is Where the Heart Is

**Chapter 18: Home is Where the Heart Is**

**Connecting flight from Munich, Germany to New York City**

_December 31__st__ –2:20 AM _

* * *

We made it out and on our way back. There was a single flight out of Munich when we got there from Naples, heading straight into the snow storm over New York City. It was surreal to have to think about that again, when we'd spent the last week in the sun. But that's where we were going, to Manhattan.

We had planned to meet my mother and father and the kids at the airport since their flight from Chicago got in a whole hour before ours. Contact was kept, we were twenty thousand feet in the air over the Atlantic Ocean, and it was all I could do to keep from taking advantage of every moment she laid beside me asleep, head on my shoulder, content in her dreams where I hadn't done anything wrong. Where I hadn't made a huge mistake.

"Excuse me, sir?"

I blinked to recharge and turned my face up in the dark cabin of the plane at the attendant, pushing a cart. She smiled and leaned down close in a whisper.

"Can I get you or your wife anything?"

I looked at Roxanne's resting head and stroked her hair before replying, "No. We're fine, thanks." Then she rolled it down the aisle further away from us.

Funny how that kind of a statement, "We're fine," can mean so very much in the context of refreshments and airline food, but when it comes to the truth, the one I still hadn't been able to face and fully convince her of in the chaos of trying to get back, it seemed so out of place to say.

I knew we weren't fine. Roxanne probably still thought I cheated since I hadn't told her otherwise yet. When I had tried, I was interrupted by an even more frightening reality. A reality that someone, or rather some woman, had tried to snatch up my kids from their beds less than 24 hours before.

That was real.

She nudged a little to get more comfortable, pulling slightly on my shirt and nuzzling her face against my shoulder. I played with her long hair where it spilled out from under her woolen snow cap. I wanted so badly to kiss her, to tell her that I was sorry for what went wrong, that I never meant for any girl to come in and ruin us, and that absolutely _nothing_ happened. I wanted her to understand that I had no intention of _ever_ doing to her, what I once had done to me.

But it was the last thing in question now. The only thing that mattered was getting to the kids, and getting them safe again. And safe, by my own measure and scheme, was where we hadn't been in far too long. Where someone had apparently led a major news distributor to believe that she had already died. It was safe despite it.

A place called Tashmore and a house, called Hayden.

* * *

**JFK Airport – New York City**

_4:15 AM_

* * *

The plane landed and I was shaking in my seat, waiting to get up and run through the gate to find them. Mort tried to talk to me, tried to ask me questions about how I was feeling and if I wanted him to carry my bag, but I wasn't focused on him whatsoever. To tell the truth, I was doing my best to just ignore him for the time being. Not that I wasn't grateful for him finding this early a flight back to the States, or everything he'd done to get the kids and his parents to New York that same morning to meet us, but I wasn't in the mood to have to talk to him.

Not yet.

The flight attendant announced they were unloading and before anyone could manage to unbuckle and get out of their seats, I already had mine flung back and was crawling across Mort's legs to get into the aisle. He tried to hold me back from moving, but I resisted and kept going.

"Roxanne!"

I didn't grab my bags because I just as well assumed he'd get them. I didn't wait for the old ladies trying to get out of their seats, or the shouting foreigners or even the first class flyers that I knew had the right of way because they spent more than us.

I could only think of one thing to do. _Run_.

The flight attendant put her hands up as I made it to the door, "Ma'am, please don't run!"

_Psh. Right lady. _

I darted passed her, thanked the pilots with a tired grin, and hurried through the freezing gateway tunnel, trying to get to the double doors and the sound of rushing travelers. Mort was somewhere close behind me, stumbling with our things and calling after me. But I didn't slow down and I didn't turn back.

"Roxy, wait."

_No, Roxy. Go. Keep going. _

And I did, all the way into the center of the international side of the terminal. There was havoc, even at five in the morning, with French women jabbering on their cell phones, Australian surfers with their rarely used snow gear on, and a bunch of other accents and cultures I couldn't understand for the life of me. My focus was on getting to Terminal B, the domestic side, which I saw on the overhead screen, was where the flights from Chicago were coming in.

Half a dozen people fell or were jolted victims in my rampant leaping over luggage on the tiled floor, between young children, through rows of payphones and laptop stands. Every little girl or boy I passed were them, my babies, and every older couple were Jane and Todd.

Even as I continued to run, my scarf blowing behind me with my hair, my hat half covering my eyes and the laces of my sneakers making every step I made a health risk, I could faintly hear Mort shouting my name.

_You'll have to catch up. I'm not turning back, _I thought as I landed in the opening between terminals, lost amid bodies of people hunting for food and last minute souvenirs. I could see the sign for Gate 60H in the distance and I wasn't slowing. I shoved through carefully and made it to the other side without a scratch to my name. And then when I looked up to search out the faces I needed to see, I heard the most universal exclamation in any airport, in any public place in the world.

"Mommy!"

It could have been any mother, anywhere, at any gate, and I even noticed a handful of women glancing around when I did. But no one sounded like my little girl and that was her. My eyes preyed as my ears heard the calls of _'Mommy_ and _'Roxanne'_ alike, from two different directions. When the crowd separated before me though, I could see the prancing of two pairs of tiny legs coming at me, and I knew which name I had to answer to first.

"Mommy!"

"Max! Maddie!"

I fell to the floor in the middle of the terminal, surrounded by moving bodies of weary travelers, and I held my arms out until they tumbled into them a second later. All of a sudden they felt so big to me, as though they'd grown a foot more since I'd seen them six days before.

"_My_ _babies_…" I whispered in their ears as my tears hit the tops of their heads. They laughed when I squeezed and covered them with as many kisses as I could manage to find cheek space for, "…I missed you so much. Are you alright?"

From the corner of my eye I could see Jane, smiling with tears in her eyes as she came to kneel down beside me in the middle of the busy terminal, rubbing my back. I turned my wet eyes up as she kissed my cheeks and brushed my hair.

"They're okay, Roxanne. They're alright now."

I cried deeply into Max's messy hair, "Thank you."

Mort showed up another minute or so later, breathing heavily as he tossed the bags down and leaned in to take Madeline from me.

She cried out in his arms, "Daddy!"

I stood up with Max tight in mine, his legs clinging to me for life and then some. I watched Mort with Maddie, I watched how he seemed to come right back down to earth again when she held onto him, cried on his shoulder. I saw our little vacation into temptation drift away in his eyes when he stared back. I wasn't talking to him yet, but at least I felt a sliver of trust drifting in again.

* * *

**Tashmore Lake, Upstate New York – Hayden House**

_6:10 AM_

* * *

It was minutes away from the sunrise when I finally finished getting the car unloaded and the house warmed up. Every fireplace was crackling and the kitchen was generating power from the coffee pot boiling away and the early breakfast my mother was cooking. Roxanne had taken Max and Madeline upstairs to try and get them to sleep, even if their eyes were closing as the day was starting.

We were all a little bit sideways, a little backwards at that point.

I reached the top of the old stairs her grandfather had built so sturdily and crept down the hall to where I heard the faintness of her voice. She had them in the first guest room on the right, and when I poked my head inside, I saw a single lamp light shining on both of them, as they lain together and still wide awake, listening to their mother. They're perfect mother. The mother every kid dreams of having.

I felt tugs at every string in my heart as I silently spied on them.

"Everything's going to be okay now. Daddy and I are here to make sure nothing else bad happens," she stroked through Madeline's long curls and then Max's messy ones.

"Is the lady coming back?"

My heart stopped, hearing Max ask that question. Because I wanted to know too.

"No," Roxanne assured all three of us at once, "She's gone, honey."

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, Bug?"

"She tried to take Ollie."

I snuck a peek through the door again to see Madeline holding her poor, old octopus up in the light. Roxanne stroked her cheeks and Ollie's.

"Ollie's safe now too. He's here to watch you while you sleep."

"Okay."

She tucked them both in as I watched on quietly. She kissed them until they were in a giggling fit, and then asked as always, "Snug?"

Two nods came of it as I started to slowly step back down the hall toward our room, or at least to the room I thought was for the both of us. I heard her say finally, "_Snug as two bugs in a rug_," and then I was through the door. The early grey light of New Year's Eve came pouring through the curtains and I tore off my snow covered boots and coat to get a hot shower.

By the time I was finished and getting dressed again though, Roxanne still wasn't in the room, sleeping or otherwise. I wondered as I pulled on my sweater and jeans, whether she'd taken another room as her own, even though this truly was_ her_ room. I walked down the hall to find her, but she wasn't upstairs. There was music playing softly from the first floor, so I assumed that's where she went after finally getting the kids to sleep, and I followed the sound of burning firewood and dripping coffee.

It wasn't the kitchen I found her in, although I did find my mom, sitting with puffy eyes from crying, the newspaper and oatmeal. I put my arms around her, kissing her head like I remembered her doing to me when I was a kid. She jumped at the touch, obviously still on pins and needles, but I felt her relax when she realized who it was.

"Everything's gonna be okay now, Mom. We'll be safe here."

I saw her smile from under my arm, "I hope so, honey."

With one final kiss on top of her head, I slid into a chair beside her, sighing tiredly before looking up to her voice again.

"That woman, she came out of nowhere. There was nothing--" an immediate pause came and I saw her face hit her hands again, crying. I reached out to take one, holding it softly. "Your father and I had no way of knowing. She was halfway through the house with the kids when--"

Silence prevailed again, with only teardrops and coffee filling the empty space. I tried to imagine what it must have been like, my sixty four year old parents having to chase off a woman from their house in the middle of the night, one trying to kidnap their own grandchildren. And I found that even as hard as I attempted it, as much as I wanted to understand what it could feel like, I couldn't. So I spoke to her to find out instead.

"Did she say anything?"

My mother shook her head, "She just ran out of the house. As if she was never there at all. It was the strangest thing."

"What did she look like? Did you see her?"

Here, she finally glanced up at me, teary-eyed and sighing to say, "She was beautiful. _Whoever_ she was. I saw she had dark hair, lovely features, and apparently," a lasting breath came from her, "a black heart too. How could someone attempt such a thing? A young woman at that?"

"I don't know."

"I can't seem to figure it out myself. Who could ever want to steal your children, for what purpose? Who could mean harm to you now, with that mafia group well taken care of?" She started to softly cry again, patting my hand. "What could one, single woman like that have against either of you at all?"

My mind was scattered then, wandering to a place I had planned to never go back to again. But it was unavoidable.

With a low mumble I replied, "I'm sure I can think of one reason."

My mom looked at me odd, blowing her nose, "What?"

"Huh?" I shot my eyes up, "Nothing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Immediately thereafter I started turning my face around the kitchen, back out toward the living room and main stairwell of the house. I think my mother saw what I was doing, because she smiled a little and pointed to the French doorway that led into the parlor, Roxanne's grandmother's parlor.

"She snuck in there just a few minutes ago, sweetheart. She's looked terribly sad since you all got off that plane. Did something else happen before you came home?"

I gulped, cracked my jaw anxiously and shook my head.

"No. It's nothing."

"Are you sure, Benjamin?"

My eyes widened when she called me that. She hardly ever called me that anymore, unless she was livid with me or by mistake. Her face seemed serious, but not stern. She was half grinning up at me.

Finally I choked out a _'yeah'_ and turned for the parlor door.

* * *


	20. Waiting On a Woman

**Chapter 19: Waiting on a Woman**

* * *

I squeezed through and shut the door behind me, letting the pale light of day and a few scattered candles make a shadowy path to the large front windows where she was standing. The walls were still that same cabernet red that I had helped her to finish painting years before, and she looked so good, even with her back turned, standing in the middle of it all. Her blue flannel shirt, her worn out jeans and white socks, all seemed to fit in just right again.

There was a sigh that flooded between the lyrics of a song playing, something jazzy; something icy to match the weather. I was focused on the way she held her tea cup off to one side, with her arms crossed, dark hair in a tangled mess as it draped off one shoulder, and the shift of her legs from one foot to the other. Even without seeing her face, my mother was right, she looked miserable.

I inched my way through the room and landed a foot behind her before whispering a soft, "Hey."

Roxanne shifted weight again and glanced back quickly, barely replying, "Hi."

"You okay?"

"Yeah." A single pause, a deep breath. "I'm okay. Just a little shaken that's all."

_Touch her. Hold her. Let her see that you're still here._

"Are you tired?"

This one she seemed to have to think about, and before she answered, she eyed me quietly. Almost as if she were curious as to whether I was suggesting that _we_ go to bed _together_.

"I can't close my eyes actually. The tea isn't helping either."

_Let me help, _I wanted to say, _Let me read to you, sing you to sleep. I'll do it. Anything._

Instead though, from out of nowhere in particular really, I heard myself saying, "Do you wanna take a walk with me?"

There was silence. We both moved our eyes out of the windows, where the light was turning a hazy sapphire from the grey, proving the day was coming on quicker than expected. Roxanne stayed quiet for what felt like a lifetime, staring out of the icy glass and tapping her wedding ring against the porcelain blue of her tea cup, probably taunting me.

Without warning though, she looked back and with a light smile said, "Alright. A walk sounds nice."

_Headway. I'd made some finally. _

_

* * *

_

The snow crunched under our boots, my pace staggering just short of his, but both of us side by side. I kept my hands tucked inside of my heavy wool coat as the walk lingered into an eventual stroll down the white and aged path beyond the property. It was a silent, wandering turn about the lakeside, with the grey sun rising on one side and the cold air blowing in from the other. All I wanted to do was to talk to him, to say all the things I was thinking, and ask him all the things I couldn't say.

Thank God, I didn't have to be the one to start.

"Weird to not see the sun anymore, isn't it?"

I hummed a, 'yeah' and nodded.

He kept his hands in his coat the same, kicking up small piles of snow as we walked in towards a close, abandoned dock on the lake. I stood out on the very end, hearing his loose breathing behind me, but too afraid to do anything about it. Mort still talked to me though.

"Seems like forever since we were here."

"And then some," I whispered, rubbing my pink nose.

"I think I've actually missed it a little."

Turning my face up as he moved in next to me, looking out over the lake, I agreed, making him smile down in return. And then there was silence, again, so naturally. It wasn't that we had run out of things to say, or to argue about (that was for damn sure). It was that I wasn't sure we knew how to anymore. Lord knows we kept trying though, and I guess they say the third time's the charm, since a second later it was me stuttering for words.

"You never got to answer my question, you know."

His black eyes, like coffee in the snow, rose and fell with mine.

"Yeah," he replied gently, "That's why I wanted to take you for a walk."

"To tell me what happened?"

He nodded, "To tell you everything you want to know."

"Well I would appreciate not knowing_ every_ _little_ detail of it."

His brow crossed down at me, already set in to defend himself.

"There are no 'little details' of it, Rox."

"Come on," I sniffled, "Do I look like I was born yesterday?"

"No. I just can't understand why you're still so determined to believe that something _serious_ happened between me and Catalina."

Hearing her name made me cringe and I shifted weight to another part of the dock, away from him.

"Whatever you're thinking happened, I swear to you a million times over, it didn't."

I crossed my arms and tucked my face inside of my wool hat some more, barely comfortable against the chilly wind. He was behind me, I could feel him even without his arms or breathing close. Mort was right there, probably wishing I would turn around and handle the conversation like an adult with eye contact. But eye contact hurt more than I wanted to admit.

"You asked me if what you saw was the aftermath of something else or an interruption. Right?"

I nodded without turning my face.

"I can tell you right now," his hand touched my back, "She wasn't putting my clothes _back on_."

I shuddered at his touch and shifted finally to see him.

"So she was taking them off. Okay. Established. And you didn't try to _stop_ her."

When my voice rose, so did his. Appropriately so I guess.

"Yes I did. I told her I could never do that to you."

"And what was she Mort? A hundred and twenty pounds at most?"

"Jesus, I didn't want to hurt her, Roxanne."

"But you hurt me!"

A tear burned at the corner of my eye with the shout, and I turned back around, facing the direction of home instead of him. I didn't want him to have the satisfaction of seeing tears. Tears that he put there and would easily try to take away.

"You have to know," he sighed a distance behind me, "I never wanted to. I never once planned to hurt you."

I forced myself to stay silent.

"You've been hurt more than I could have ever dreamed was possible, Roxanne. All these things that happen to you, to _us_, and it's still not over. There's a woman out there trying to take our children. There's someone who wants you _dead_, someone who wants to take you from me."

The deeper his words burned, the deeper my crying came.

"How can you think for one second, on top of every other risk you face being with me, that I had _any_ intention of doing to you what was done to me before?"

Thoughts came of the first time he explained the situation with Amy to me. She'd broken him, same as I was sure I was allowed to feel now, and yet maybe I wasn't. Maybe this was the truth and I just couldn't accept it because I was so prone to pain all the time.

"That girl tempted very little in me. She came to the door, she was an overly zealous fan with big ideas, and she tried to change my mind." I heard his boots coming in close behind me, then I felt his arms consume my entire body, holding me to him, breathing in my ear as he begged me to understand. "But she made the mistake of thinking she could. She didn't realize my mind was made up a long time ago, _here_, in this exact place. I could never let myself do _anything_ to lose your love, honey. I'd just as soon fall flat on my face and never get back up."

I felt like I was falling. Standing in his arms, wanting so badly to give in, to forgive and to forget. I wanted to turn around and kiss him, feel every bit of him that I'd been missing with my prideful shield. I wanted to get back and never let go again.

But I too often underestimate my own uncertainty with the world around me. I'm used to having the sky fall as soon as things start going right, and because of that inner battle, I had to push his arms away. I had to walk right off that dock and head back down the path, without him on it. I had to let myself cut loose the possibility of falling or being wounded all over again.

And I did.

Mort shouted after me, calling my name, begging me, but never running after me. I thought I knew why, but I couldn't be sure, so I just went on. My boots stumbled over snow and fallen leaves and hidden stones, forming a trail of my own to somewhere I was afraid to go. Simply because there would be no turning back if I ever made it there.

"_Roxanne! Where are you going? Baby, come back!"_

I didn't make it another three feet, before I saw something fall in front of me. _The sky, _I thought morbidly, _here it comes, just like I knew it would. _And yet it was nothing more than a singular snowflake, followed by another, and another that landed right on the tip of my nose. I stopped moving then, at a standstill between an unruly destination and the place I knew deep down I belonged in. The snow fell softly, like floating memories of things that I should have remembered. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't have pushed him away so quickly.

_It was the first heavy snow, of our first season spent in North Carolina. I was six months pregnant. I was so happy. _

"_Don't move," he whispered, stepping back away from me and down the bank of icy grass a little further. _

"_Mort, what are you doing?"_

_I laughed and he just smiled, "I want to remember you like this. Stand still."_

_I did, flakes of white hitting my forehead and nose, dancing in my long hair and falling down on the lazy bump in my coat. And he just stood, hands in his pockets, ten feet away and staring like a fool. _

"_Memory made yet?" I teased. _

_He grinned crookedly and began walking back after a minute, kissing the top of my head when he made it. _

"_Saved forever."_

I gasped to come back to reality. The snow was covering me by then, sprinkled all in my hair, on my boot toes and coat. I hadn't realized it till then, but even though we weren't in North Carolina, and we hadn't lived here on Tashmore for five years, we were home, I was home. Home was wherever he was. Home was Italy for the week and a half we spent there. Home was that little bungalow in the Virgin Islands. Home was the cramped balcony on my old apartment in the city. And no matter how hard that girl had wanted to do it, she hadn't taken my home from me. She'd tried. She'd nearly succeeded. But my _home_ cut her off.

My eyes shifted when my boots did in the snow bank. It was falling heavily enough, that when I tried to look back and find Mort, I couldn't see him. So I did what I'd always done when I was at the end of my string, lost and helpless in my life. I started running in the direction I knew he was.

"Mort!"

I shouted and kicked up white dust, my hair and arms flying through the sky that was falling all around me and all at once, like usual. I could barely make out the path leading back to the house, but I followed boot prints in the snow until I saw a figure standing idly a yard ahead.

"Mort, wait!"

And he did. He waited until I slid against the snow feet from him, and until my arms and legs could reach just far enough to wrap around him completely. It was no challenge for him to lift me from the ground and hold onto me, like he hadn't done in too many hours and days. _Hours and days_ that felt like years, or better yet, centuries. His arms hugged me to him tight and I pressed my cold nose into his neck, where those same unruly wisps of golden and auburn hair always laid, where his skin was warm and smelled like cinnamon cookies.

More tears came, as can only be expected, but I found and heard in the quietly falling snow, that I wasn't the only one with an emotion or two to be shed. I pulled back from his neck, stared down at him between snowflakes and pressed my forehead to his. My gaze was fixed firmly to where I saw his eyes just barely glistening from under his wool cap.

"You're crying."

"Go figure," he teased as I wiped his tears off with my mittens.

"You never cry. Why are you?"

He gripped me tighter to his body, walking about in invisible circles.

"Why do you think, Rox?"

"You didn't think I was coming back. Did you?"

He shook his head a little, "What good reason would you have to now?"

I touched my nose to his and let his soft mustache tickle my lips, "Want a list?"

He laughed and squeezed me to him harder, resting my head back on his shoulder and spinning me around right there in that spot. I know we'd been there before, a long time ago, in the middle of a summer neither of us could have ever pictured. My arms hugged his neck and I kissed his jaw, his cheek, his entire face, not willing to move on from there.

"Where am I going to go?" I whispered. "Where else do I have to be, Mort? But right here," my lips came to his a second time, warmer, "With _you_. You're still all my own right?"

He rolled his eyes with a fierce nod until his mouth hit mine again and finally, after too long, he kissed me. Like ever before it, his kiss could have melted the air right back into summertime. His hand held the nape of my neck, pulling me as closely as he could get me, his lips twisting with a moist spice that hit my tongue seconds later. I couldn't grip him tight enough or feel near enough to any bit of him. It was impossible. I constantly wanted to be closer in that moment.

A breath came between us where all I could think to say was, "Take me home. Make love to me, okay?"

His eyes lit up with a wintry sparkle before he turned for the house and started kissing me again.


	21. Skin and Bones

**Chapter 20: Skin and Bones**

* * *

She rolled back from atop me with a subdued moan, settled into my spread arm and caught whatever breath she could find, same as me. The only difference being, that Roxanne giggled between inhalations.

I let myself relax, thinking the whole time, _only my girl. _

After a short while in silence, biting her lip and sucking on impossible air to speak, she turned over to face me again, twisted into the crook of my arm and kissing the curve of my shoulder. That's what I had been missing. That was what I almost let get away and it killed me to have to think it then.

"Tired yet?"

I glanced down at her through my crooked glasses and sighed with a grin.

"No way."

"Good."

I felt her hand creeping under the sheets until her fingers danced over the head of my reawakened cock. _Poor bastard, _I smiled and closed my eyes to the touch. _He has to pull all the weight of making up with her. _With a silent apology to the stifling appendage that she had no problem bringing back to ready position, I also felt her crawling over my chest again.

"You know what I think?"

I pried open my eyes and caressed her arms, "What's that?"

"I think that you're better now than you've ever been before."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," she laughed, playing with the small hairs on my chin. "Maybe you should let me catch you with your pants around your ankles more often."

At this I simply rolled my eyes and then rolled _her_ beneath me to the other side of the bed. I pinned her hands over her head and traced circles over the faint sharpie words still left on her stomach from days before.

"Only if _you're_ the one pulling them down to my ankles, baby."

"I can do that I think."

I chuckled against her navel and licked the sweat clean from it as I felt her freed fingers weaving through my knotted hair. It was a sentimental few moments, where I laid stretched across her, tasting as much skin as I could and nipping at other places that made her wiggle with laughter. It felt good just to be back home, back where I knew nothing could stand in my way of having her.

But shortly, the peace was broken, when she asked me in a whisper, "Do you think we'll ever figure out who's doing all this?"

I stopped to gaze up her body as she inquired again.

"Don't you think they know we're here yet? Whoever they are or _she_ is?"

The _she _part struck me a second time, same as it did when I'd talk to my mother about what had happened. I still couldn't understand what any other woman here, back in the States, could have against my wife. Sure, there were the incessant fan girls at the signings, none so different from Catalina, but I doubt any of them had the guts enough to do the things that were occurring all around us. The high speed, intentional car crashes, the firing of bullets off of cliffs only my girl was on, or the attempt to kidnap our children. None of my fans, or hers for that matter, would dare to pull that sort of thing.

Or I rather hoped they wouldn't at least.

"Rox," I sighed, hovering over her mouth and soft, all too perfect form, "I wish I had the answer. I wish I could understand all this shit. It sucks, because I don't know any more now than I did when we first left."

"Do you think that's how they want it?"

"What do you mean?"

She leaned up a little to stare me directly in the eyes. "Maybe the person doing this doesn't want me or you to know anything before it all ends. Before they finally just do it, and kill me."

"Hey, don't you say that."

She didn't waver in staring, or in holding her own with the statement.

"We've been through this. No one's going to kill you."

"How do you know that, Mort? If they want it to happen badly enough th--"

I stopped her from going on the only way I knew how. I held her mouth captive with mine and kissed away as many words of that morbid nature rolling around on her tongue that I could. I was tired of having to think about the sickness inside someone, enough to convince the fucking New York Times that a bestselling author had died, the same night that she was wrapped up in my arms, three thousand miles away. I was tired of having to convince her of something that she rightfully knew, I didn't have a clue _wouldn't_ happen for sure. I was tired of watching her be a martyr to the cause.

My mouth slid away from hers and she was smiling, _thank God for that much. _She slowly opened her eyes and brushed my cheeks with the backs of her hands.

"Is that the only way you know of trying to change a subject?"

"No." I nipped at her chin with teeth and soft lips, "There's another way."

"Teach me then," she teased, running her nails down my back.

"As if you need an instructor, _Roxy Love_…"

Her legs spread wider beneath the sheets and my body came ever closer to the growing heat which resided and waited for me in the middle. With one hand, I situated her thighs around me perfectly, draping her ankles down on my lower back where they'd made a lifelong indent.

"I remember the morning you tried to keep me here and make me quit my job."

The heated desperation of my flesh rubbing against her inner thigh made her coolly laugh and hold me as near as possible to her.

"I never wanted you to go," I whispered against her lips. "I knew then I _had_ to have you. It wasn't even a possibility anymore. I _needed_ you so bad."

"…Like I need you right now."

Anytime she said that, _I need you, _I was a complete goner to the world around me. I became worthless to anyone or anything but her. So I moved my hand between where our bodies meshed to gently rub at her wet throb. She shivered under me, her fingertips pinching the skin on my arms with an arch into the palm of my hand. And I watched as a tiny gasp escaped her lips with the weaving way my fingers were replaced by something more to her liking.

I felt myself falling into the damp folds of her body, pushing through the simplest of barriers to get to where everything eventually crashed together. _Five, _I chanted in my head, _round five with the most beautiful creature I know. _

* * *

My hands immediately flew to his hair and the nape of his neck, pulling his face down to the side of mine, buried in the curve of my neck as he thrust deep inside of me for only the hundredth time that morning. Luckily, I had the freedom to scream as loudly as I wanted or needed. Mort's parents had taken the kids to town about a half hour before, to collect things for New Year's Eve. I could have my husband as many times as I needed for the next hour at least. And I could shout his name without two five year olds thinking someone had died.

Although there was a good chance I might, just from being all too content.

He bit my neck softly and drove hard against my thighs. The burn was welcomed as I moaned out incoherent epiphanies for him.

"_God_, you feel so…" a screech beckoned from the back of my throat as he pumped harder, rougher, not worrying about anything but satisfying my continued speech, "…_deeper_, Mort…I need you deeper…"

"You got it," he grunted breathlessly, straining between my hooked legs. "What else, baby?"

"_Harder_," I sighed and clutched onto his ribs, then his back under the sheet, trying to find leverage enough to stay molded to him. He retracted almost entirely out of my body before gripping the edge of the mattress and impelling back inside with all the force in him. I could feel the muscles in his back ripple like the clenching walls that hugged his cock inside of me. "I want all of you, _please_…"

"She's fallen to begging ladies and gentleman…" he teased with kisses down the plane of my neck and across both of my breasts. I couldn't respond and wasn't sure I knew how to, so he mumbled against my skin as he thrust stronger and more deliberately, "…I must be doing something _right_," he grunted with another fast plunge to places that rocked against him, "…if she's _begging_ for me…"

He sighed against my cheek and kissed the droplets of sweat from my brow line, never ceasing the speed of his movements over and inside of me, and especially not when we both felt the contraction of my body around his. That only made his pace wilder, in a more havoc search of that boiling point he knew was coming, the one where I would crash and he would catch me before I fell further than animalistic screams would allow.

"Yes…" I exclaimed finally, "…you do everything--very, _very_ right!"

I saw his eyes zip shut when the pulsing of my clit against the slide of his cock brought his previously in control world all crumbling down. It made me smile as I clung to him, meeting his thrusts without restraint and kissing the wrinkles from his forehead as I moaned his name.

"Here it comes," he teased lovingly as we rose up together, my lap suddenly in his and using his sweaty shoulders for mock control, "I can feel _you_…" he stopped as I fell hard on him, breasts gliding down his wet chest and eyes locking his in place, "…Jesus, you're so _close_…come on, baby…_now_…"

I followed his orders, pulling hard on his messy hair as my thighs crushed to where he kneeled in the middle of the bed, holding me with nothing but shaky fingers on my lower back. It was the most intense climax we'd ever come to together, I'll swear by it. I drenched him in all that I had and he filled my trembling body with the heady shot of his own seed as he grunted my name, and my name alone.

My legs were wrapped completely around his waist and back, tied together for safety, same as my arms around his neck and his across my back. With his heavy breathing blowing through my hair in his face, and mine through his, I felt something welling up inside of me, something I couldn't control. And Mort knew exactly what that was, when only a minute of heavy exhaling later, a teardrop slid down the curve of his back to disappear on the wrinkled sheets beneath us.

He pulled me back in his arms, his eyes weak and sad looking.

"No giggling? I get tears for that class act show?"

He made me laugh, but only slightly beyond the tears that he began brushing off my cheeks.

"What did I do wrong? Tell me."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what?" He whispered peaceably on my forehead, kissing off the beads of sweat.

"You just feel so good," I hugged him close to me again, breathing him in, "I'm so happy."

"Happy tears then," he mumbled with a soft peck on my shoulder, "Okay. That's good. One for the home team."

I laughed again, more that time, and he gently laid me on the mattress, our bodies separating finally. He rested on his stomach beside me, one arm crossing and clutching my waist to him as I played with his wispy hair.

"I know why she couldn't help herself."

His head rose slightly off the bed as he eyed me suspiciously.

"And I guess I can't blame her for having good taste."

His brow crossed.

"Cinnamon _is _a good flavor…" My fingers twirled curls of his hair as he crawled up higher toward me on the bed, leaving kisses like bread crumbs to get back if need be.

"You know what's even better?"

"Huh?"

"_Strawberries_…" he hummed with a dreamy, hungry look on his face.

"Strawberry pancakes?"

"Mmm," he licked his lips and came closer to mine, "With you on the _side_?"

His mustache tickled my neck as he blew into it with a wet raspberry, like the ones he used to give to Max and Maddie when they were just babies. I giggled and inched away from him, tying the loose red sheet around me as I went. He tried to reach out and pull me back, but missed as I skipped around to the other side of the bed to find his long white shirt on the floor. I stood only feet away as he crawled toward me on the mattress, eyeing me up like food when I buttoned the shirt halfway down and pulled on a clean pair of his boxers.

"Where are you running off to?"

I smiled and twisted my hair into a messy tie at my neck.

"I'm going to make pancakes. You get in the shower and I'll come meet you."

He sat tangled in a leftover sheet on the edge of the bed, holding his hand out for me to take. I did, and tiptoed back toward him as he wrapped his legs around me, then gently stroked through my hair.

"Do you know how happy you make me?"

Wanting to tease, I reached down between his legs and felt the soft bulge under the sheet, before he rolled his eyes and pulled my hand away to hold it.

"I'm serious, Roxanne."

"_Dead_ serious?"

"No. Dead nothing. I'm here to _live_, with you."

I smiled, not wanting to start crying again. So I leaned into him and held his face in my hands, letting a long, quiet moment drift by where nothing was said and nothing needed to be said. He knew what I was thinking and I understood him, and that was enough.

I kissed the bridge of his nose and fixed his tilted glasses.

"L.I.V.I.N"

He nodded in agreement and left a simple, lingering peck on my lips before he let me skip out of the room finally. I was halfway down the staircase when I heard the shower water start to run. It made me smile, just knowing what would be waiting for me after I finished putting together the mix for _his _strawberry pancakes.

I added a few new logs to the fireplaces in the living room and dining room, before heading for the kitchen. There was a light coming from under the swinging door, and I assumed as much that Mort's mother had left it on by accident. My hand shoved back on the doorway and I stepped onto the freezing tile with a gasp, shivering in nothing but Mort's shirt and underwear when it was clearly near zero outside.

There was very little coffee left, so I started a fresh pot, since I knew we could both use the energy. I turned on the radio, as was customary, and began singing along to the Foo Fighters, _Learn to Fly. _I washed a couple of the kid's dishes that were left on the breakfast table and then went to the fridge to collect all the ingredients for pancakes. I had two arms full of things when I finally kicked back the metal door and shoved it with my butt, laughing.

I made it to the table, dropped everything down and even managed to get a mixing bowl and whisk, before anything even remotely intrigued me in the eerie silence of the kitchen around me. As soon as curiosity struck me, so did something else.

"_Mrs._ Rainey?" A sweet sort of voice flowered from directly behind me.

I turned, but only had half a second to see the source before I felt a rush of pain and force fall against the side of my head and choked out a scream, dropping to that same cold tile floor.


	22. A Black Horse Come Knockin'

**Chapter 21: A Black Horse Come Knockin'**

* * *

In twenty minutes of steam and bathing, Roxanne never came back, and she never got in the shower. I figured she must have let herself get preoccupied with cleaning, or fixing something, or cooking everything in the house as was usually the case. Her mind wandered when she was doing things around the house, so I wasn't particularly surprised, only bummed.

I got out, dried off and got dressed. I took my time, figuring she was busy anyway, and made the bed, put a few things back in place around the bedroom, and only then moved into the hallway to head downstairs. Music was playing on the radio from the kitchen, _Nirvana_, but there was no cooking scent in the house, no sound other than fires burning, and no sure sign of her anywhere.

And yet that's when I got a different sign altogether.

From somewhere I heard what sounded like screams of pain, and then eventually, of something else. The screeching was all too familiar, but it didn't make sense, not with what I was positive I was hearing. I followed it though the house, all the way down the long first floor hall, toward the distant parlor. The noise radiated, grew more intense, all the more realistic as I pushed back on the curtained French door and walked inside.

"_Harder…I want all of you, please…"_

The room was empty save for the sounds that filled it to a thoughtless capacity. It was Roxanne, her voice at least, and it tore through my heart like too many knives all at once. It was her, it was me seconds later; it was _us_ in the middle of something that had already taken place. I stood there with a gaping mouth and twisted brow for what felt like forever, the blood rising from my toes to create the unexpected tightness in my jeans. It was just too much.

And then, from behind me in the softest tone possible, I heard a voice.

"This is the best part."

I was hesitant to move, hesitant to breathe or turn around. But I did all three.

"I don't need to remind you of that though. Do I, _Mr. Rainey_?"

The face of a woman was hidden beneath the brim of a baseball cap, but the voice, the foreign inflection, the hue and resonation of it, burned straight through me. Her head turned up with a wicked sort of smile, as the sound of Roxanne's climatic screams drenched all of my other senses.

In my mind, I sneered and shouted it. _Catalina. _But standing there before her, embarrassed, disgusted and in fear for why I could _only_ hear a recording of my wife's voice rather than the real thing, I was silent and breathless.

"I must admit," she came closer and began to circle me, her hand warm and dancing across my back, "I am well beyond the point of mere jealousy after hearing that." In my ear she spoke words I couldn't understand, but easily knew weren't worthy, "Siete un animale selvaggio fra i fogli, non siete? You_ beast_ you…"

She walked back around to glance at my solemnly, burning eyes and nipped at me with a teasing bite of her teeth and a low growl. Then she laughed and I felt all too ready to hurt her, the way I insisted to Roxanne I couldn't let myself do before. Now I felt it was as easy a task as any.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house, Catalina? Where's my wife?"

"She's fine, _molto bene_." She kissed her fingertips with her seductive chestnut eyes. "I didn't hit her that hard."

My eyes widened and I shoved her away from me, running back through the doors of the parlor for the hall, then the living room again, the staircase, calling out for her.

"Roxanne! Roxanne, answer me!"

I was halfway to the kitchen when I heard Catalina whisper just behind me, "You're getting warmer._" _

My eyes flipped back at her angrily before I stormed through the swinging door of the kitchen and stumbled into what I should have expected to find. There she was, with legs bound to those of a chair, her arms twisted and tied somewhere behind her, a bandana blinding her and tape covering her mouth. I moved toward her but was stopped again, by that same voice.

"Don't. You'll wake the baby," she teased harshly and grabbed my arm before I could stop it. Catalina threw me fast into another chair, and although I tried to get away, I wasn't quite as quick as she was with handcuffs. _Why am I not surprised?_

"Let me go," I growled at her as she pinched them shut to the back of the seat and then slid down my legs to tie them the same as Roxanne's. "Stop this. What in the hell are doing!?"

She smiled, like I should have known she would, and avoided the thrashing of my legs until she had each of my bare feet tied to the chair too. There was a single moment when she stood again, that she brought her face down to mine, holding my hair with force and breathed on my neck.

"You'll thank me later."

"Like hell," I spit up at her, but she dodged it with a laugh. At that moment, there was a different sound, a muffled sort of cry for help and I tossed my head around Catalina's form to see Roxanne coming to from her otherwise unconscious state.

"Roxanne, honey I'm here."

There was a mumbling of _Mort_ behind duck tape as her head moved around. Catalina walked away from me and towards her chair instead, and I couldn't help but to yell at her, shout against the advance. She was still wearing my clothes, from our private morning escapades which had apparently been compromised by a spy, the same spy that now lifted the bandana from her eyes to reveal the tears and puffiness that lied beneath it.

"Morning, _Sunshine_," she whispered a tease in Roxanne's ear.

"Roxy, _baby_, look at me."

"Yes," Catalina agreed, holding her head firmly and twisting it until she faced me, "Do look at him. Your husband. The love of your life. Isn't he wonderful?"

Her eyes shifted, welling with tears as she looked at me, silently forgiving me for something I could see she was blaming herself all over again. Her brow creased with angst, tire, and pain. And I noticed then, the faint stream of blood falling from her top hair line, barely reaching her left ear. Catalina had hit her; which meant I now had every right to hit her back the same. Just as soon as I got loose again.

"Let her go," I begged angrily.

"No."

"Catalina, this is fucking ridiculous. Nothing you can do--"

"Sh." She cut me off with a quiet demand as she came back towards me with the bandana from Roxanne's eyes. "You have a very _dirty_ mouth, Mr. Rainey. I don't remember that from before."

"You were too busy trying to get my pants off."

She twirled the sash around, untying it and stepping behind the chair I was in with her arms draped over my shoulders in persuasion. I did nothing but focus on Roxanne's eyes from across the kitchen, until she eventually saw what I couldn't see Catalina doing, and turned her face away. I felt hot breath on my ear and it sent a shiver down my spine, then right back to my head in a rush of blood and shame.

"It seems you too have forgotten me," she whispered coyly, her tongue just touching the top of my ear as I jerked my head away, "But I am not surprised at all. What, with the many changes I have made. You had no chance of being reminded."

I couldn't understand what she was talking about, and when I tried to voice my confusion, she just tugged the bandana between my teeth and tied it tightly behind my head.

"There," she said, stroking my cheek with her warm fingertips before she came in front of me again, grinning down and leaning on my legs with a seducing squeeze, "You're so much nicer to talk to when you have nothing to say."

I just scowled at her fiercely and watched as she crossed the kitchen for the coffee pot, fixing herself a cup slowly, as if it were nothing at all. After having stirred in her sugar and creamer, she turned back to us, shifting glances from me to Roxanne and then back to me again. I wanted so badly to scream, to break bones in my hands and feet to get loose and run for the handgun I knew was in the bottom drawer in the desk of the office, or for a knife in the rack settled just behind her at the counter in the kitchen. There were so many ways I could have easily taken her, if I hadn't been so ignorant, so hasty to begin with.

Eventually, she spoke again, but something had drastically changed. Her accent.

"I knew neither of you would ever remember me. Why would you? I was a 'nobody', and you both are obviously, _somebody's._ Still._" _

An evil sort of grin covered her face and she jumped to sit on the counter, legs crossed and sipping at her coffee. Roxanne continued to refuse looking up from where her head was hung in fear and embarrassment.

"It wasn't even that long ago really. Five years? Your_ children_…" she paused for a moment and reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out _my_ wallet, one she'd obviously snagged from the foyer table on her way in, "…such cute little things. They have their father's eyes. They're five now, aren't they? Or nearly five, I suppose. I highly doubt you conceived them the _first_ night you spent together."

She cackled and stared me down again, "Not even you can be_ that _good."

There was a glowing grin on her face for a moment, and while I was still at a loss for why she seemed so in tune with an American fashion suddenly, Roxanne slowly lifted her head with the speech and they looked each other dead in the eyes as I watched on.

"Where was that anyway Roxanne? At your high rise in Manhattan? Only the best for _Roxy Love_, right?"

I saw Roxanne's eyes widen slightly.

"Don't look at me like that," Catalina snapped at her, "You should have seen all this coming."

I was thoroughly confused. The most I'd ever been. There was something going on between my wife and the woman who was out to get her. They had an understanding of sorts that I'd missed during my shower. _Great, _I contemplated; _this just gets better and better. _

Suddenly though, Catalina glanced over at me again and teasingly said, "Oh. But of course. You don't have a single clue what we're, _well_," she paused and sniggered at Roxanne, "What _I'm_ talking about, how rude of me."

I just looked dead straight at her from across the kitchen. And when she was tired of having a staring contest, she jumped down from counter in her expensive red heels and instead took a seat at the table, opposite where I sat tied up. Her dark nails tapped on the surface mockingly, and she only began to speak again when she had my complete and undivided attention, without interruptions from my darting concern for Roxanne.

"Your wife and I aren't strangers, Mort. In fact, I know more about her past dirty laundry than I'd think she'd like for _you_ to even be aware of."

Catalina turned her head back to Roxanne for a second, half smiled and then looked at me.

"She was my boss, once upon a time. Actually," she took back her words, biting on a nail, "I think she would have liked to _think_ she was my boss. She treated me like a second secretary most days. I was really just the coffee girl, the fax girl. You know," she grinned, leaning over the table staring more closely at me, "The nerdy, college intern that no one cared about."

I was a little lost, but looking at Catalina now, whether I had a right to admit she was beautiful or not to myself, I had to scoff at the idea that she could have ever been just a nerdy intern. Sex appeal radiated from this girl, like it was a sixth sense of her nature, and God, how I despised her nature for it.

"Oh I was the ugliest duckling," she sighed with a wicked giggle, thinking back on something apparently. "I was completely under the radar at Rolling Stone. Just a worker bee trying to pay for my Brooklyn rent. And there was your wife, not too much earlier than before you knew her, seducing rock stars with the blinds shut in her office and having martini lunch dates with anyone who could get her _that_ much farther to the top."

I glanced over Catalina's shoulder during her telling, and saw that Roxanne was staring blankly down at the floor, her eyes watering and teardrops hitting her bare knees.

"Don't worry though, Mr. Rainey, she always had a special place in her heart for you. It was a place only people really close to her knew about. Or those of us with eyes wide open, I guess."

My eyes, _wide open_, found their way back to my captor's, angrily but intrigued.

"Roxanne had every one of your books, and she read them all the time, I remember. During lunch, between meetings, in her car outside the office and I'm sure, at home, on nights when she didn't have _handsome_ celebrity company in her bed." Catalina laughed darkly and played with a coffee ring on the table, humming a continued speech. "She was a fan. More than that, she was an admirer, which was why I found myself silently admiring _her_ myself. I thought for sure I was the only girl in the world, or at least New York who had that same sort of _healthy_ obsession with your work. But, I was very wrong. Speaking of which…"

Silence came while Catalina's mind wandered off in deep thought. It gave me the chance to tilt my head back over and catch another glimpse of Roxanne. Her head was held up again now, and surprisingly, she turned her eyes to me. There was a sea green hint of regret in them, a small taste of utter humiliation, and even more than that, _surrender_. I hated that part the most.

"Would you like to hear the story of how all this started? How you, and me, and Roxanne all came together without even knowing it? It's a wonderful story, I promise."

Catalina was teasing me, as usual, and even more so now under the circumstances. She was doing and saying everything on purpose, and the more I stared her in the eyes, the more I listened to her average, everyday American twang, the more I wondered if that was even her real name at all, _Catalina_. It didn't matter what I wondered though, because not a second had passed before she set right about to giving me answers.

"Okay," she tapped her hands excitedly, "So it all started on February 20th, 2006…"

**"…_it was just a regular day in the office, making runs back and forth between Starbuck's and the copy room for everyone. I'd been working at Rolling Stone for almost four months, but of course, I was still a fly on the wall. No one noticed me, and honestly, I was starting to like it better that way. _**

_**I had my thick framed glasses and checkered sweater vests and I was the floating nerd. Everyone else had an office and a secretary and scheduled lunch meetings with Justin Timberlake and Meryl Streep, and I just had my corner of space in the workroom. **_

_**I remember I had made copies of something or other for Roxanne that day, and I brought them to her office. Her secretary, Lily, was out to lunch and the door to her office was locked. Of course it was locked. **_

_**I knocked and only a few seconds later, Jessie, the editor's son, stepped out with a half un-tucked dress shirt and crooked tie. She knew exactly where her climb on the food chain was…"**_

Catalina stopped talking with a coy grin on her face as she looked between me and Roxanne, thinking I would be bothered by it. I wasn't though. I was no judge of _Roxy Love, _I never knew her except from taglines and excellent music reviews. She was never that girl to me.

"Don't worry. She didn't moan out his name the same way she did _yours_ earlier."

I rolled my eyes, annoyed, and she jumped back into the tale again.

"Anyway…"

**"…_Roxanne thanked me for the copies and sent me on my way. Until, she noticed that Lily was still gone to lunch, and that's when she called me right back for another task. The task that would ultimately change everything for me, whether she knew it or not. _**

_**I remember her saying anxiously, "I really could use your help. I have this meeting uptown in a half an hour. But there was this book signing I was dying to get to today."**_

**"_What book signing is that?" _**

**"_Oh, it's for Mort Rainey's new murder mystery, __Damaged Goods__."_**

_**I was immediately hooked. I'd already known she was a fan, and I'd already known you had a book signing in the city that day. But then I knew she was crazy for you, and I knew I had to hide my own obsession as best I could. I couldn't let her know. **_

**"_I think I've heard of him."_**

**"_Great. Look, it's just a few blocks from here, at Barnes and Noble. I can give you money for a cab and lunch, if you wouldn't mind running down and getting me a signed copy."_**

**"_Signed to you, Miss Hayden?"_**

_**She just smiled at me, so embarrassed, so coy, "Yes. But if you could have him make it out to just, Roxanne?"**_

**"_Of course."_**

**"_Thank you so much…" she hesitated because she didn't know my name. What else was new though?_**

**"_Cat."_**

**"_Cat, right. I'm sorry. I really appreciate it."_**

_**And then she handed me fifty bucks, patted me on the back, grabbed her five hundred dollar purse and ran out of the office for her 'oh so special meeting.' Her loss was my gain in that moment. As big a fan as she was, she missed your book signing to have lunch with John Mayer. So, she sent me, and I know you probably don't remember it at all…"**_

Catalina got up from her chair and walked towards me, moving her hands to cradle my face while I tried to pull away. She brushed her lips over mine, the rag that kept them from forming coherent words, and concluded, "…but it was the _best_ day of my life."

Then she reached behind my head and slowly untied the bandana, allowing for me to crack my jaw and cough, before I stared straight up into her eyes. She smiled with that same seductive smirk and touched my face. I flinched once more and even though I clearly said, "Get away from me," she ignored and slowly lowered herself to straddle my lap.

"Catalina, stop. Get the fuck off me!"

"Oh hush. You're just being modest because you're wife is in the room. I can fix that though."

She slid back down from my knees, rubbing the bulge in my jeans on purpose and took the bandana with her. It ended up right where I knew it would, tied to Roxanne's face a minute later, blinding her to Catalina's advances all over again. She was back on my lap, against my own will, interest or desire, in mere seconds. Her arms were wrapped around my neck, her thighs gripped my hips tight on the chair, and her spilling breasts pressed into my chest as she giggled.

"She can't see anything now. She can only hear us. So be careful what kind of noises you make."

"Get off of me, _now_."

"Why? You can't tell me you don't want it."

"I don't."

"Right, just like you didn't want me back in Italia either?"

I gulped, sensing what must have been rising in Roxanne's head and heart across the room, and then spat my answer harshly and directly in Catalina's face.

"I've never wanted you. Not once."

"Not _once_? _Ever_?"

"No."

She smiled and then got off of me again, returning to her chair but facing in Roxanne's direction.

"You married _our_ true love, Roxanne. But he's such a filthy liar. That must break your heart."

Roxy flinched, masked from everything but sound and taunting words. I couldn't imagine what she was feeling, because I could only feel half of it.

"Leave her alone," I demanded. "Just get away from her and let us fucking go!"

"No, wait." Catalina turned back to me; suddenly involved in her storytelling again, "I haven't even gotten to the good part yet. The part with _you and me_, Morton."

"She's already well aware of those parts. It's what almost ruined my marriage, _okay_?!"

She eyed me with a twisted smirk, most likely in the complete know of everything that had happened between us, and I saw Roxanne's blinded face turn off at a distance, probably trying to drown out everything around her. I didn't blame her one bit.

"There is no _you and me_, Catalina. And there's never going to be."

"But you're so wrong," she bit her nails again, lifting her brown eyes through her veil of dark hair with a devilish grin on her cherry fresh lips, "Because we'll always have the Omaha _Barnes and Noble_…"


	23. Book Smart Lips

**Chapter 22: Book Smart Lips**

* * *

**Omaha Street, Manhattan**

**Barnes and Noble – February 20****th****, 2006**

_Noon_

* * *

"…_It was crowded. You're such a popular writer. Every mystery fiend in town was there, and I wasn't the least bit surprised. You really have a way of twisting a plot, of turning a sentence to make readers think that something is actually happening. I've been scared plenty of times. _

_And there I was, at least the eightieth person in line. I had two books, one for Roxanne and one for myself. I couldn't keep my eyes off you the entire time. You looked happy, but it was forced, I could tell. You signed books and shook hands and accepted kisses and hugs from fans, but I knew you were depressed. I knew why too. _

_All that business with your wife. The first one. What was her name…Amy?_

_The newspapers were bursting with accusations and rumors about you still, even though it was nearly two years later at that point. The cops were out to prove you were a murderer. But you still had loyal readers and more fans than you knew what to do with. And do you know why that is Mr. Rainey?_

_It's because everyone wanted to believe your story so badly. Everyone wanted a reason to be that much more scared when they read it. What good is a mystery writer with great murder plots, if he doesn't have bloody hands to show for it once in a while?_

_That's why I was there. I wanted my chance to see you face to face, to determine it all for myself, and to attempt making a lasting impression…"_

I could hear everything being said, everything Catalina was spitting out between me and Mort. But I couldn't see anything and that's what bothered me the most. I had no sure way of knowing where her hands were, the ones I wanted to break personally. I had no choice, but to sit patiently and listen.

_Ye are a beautiful listener…_I heard Roux in my head and I didn't know why. Maybe he was there because Mort had his _Catalina_ back again and I needed mine for subconscious protection. _"Predictable, ain't it? We men always want wot' appears most foreign t' us, most mysterious."_

Tell me about it.

"…I was third in line, and you were already staring back at me constantly, through other bodies of people. It was so magnetic. I can't explain it…"

I sighed, blind and deaf to the world around me. I was freezing, still wearing nothing but men's underwear and a loose dress shirt. My ankles were burning with the way the rope cut into them. My head ached, my heart reeled and all I could think about as Catalina went on with her little tale, was how at any minute, my kids and Mort's parents would be coming back.

That is, if they hadn't already been tied up somewhere else, same as me.

"…there was immediate chemistry." She giggled and my stomach churned, "Chemistry between nerds I suppose…"

"…_I stepped up to the table then with the books and nearly fainted from your cologne alone. You were so intoxicating, in your glasses and tilted fedora. You were dorky too, I'll admit, but then again I looked no different. _

_You smiled, hugely in fact, as if you'd been waiting the whole hour for me to get to that table. _

"_Mr. Rainey, hi."_

"_Hi," you were so adorable. It's no wonder Roxanne had to have you. "How are you?"_

"_I'm better now."_

_You laughed and twisted the sharpie in your hand, just staring wildly up at me._

"_It's such a pleasure to get to meet you."_

"_Oh, well, likewise Miss…?"_

"_Cat. My name's Cat."_

"_Cat," you winked then and I nearly melted. "Can I sign something for you, Cat?"_

_The way you said my name, it was like pure sin, like the darkest of your books, one that didn't exist, because the story only existed between your eyes and mine. _

"_Please." I shoved the books towards you and explained, "One is mine and the second is for one of my bosses. She couldn't make it, so she sent me."_

_You laughed again, sympathetically so, "Ah. One of those bosses, huh? I've been there before."_

"_Yeah," I leaned closer to you on the table while you were focused on signing my book. "She's a big fan, but," I remember pausing when I could feel your breath blow just over my knuckles on the table's edge, "Not as much as I am."_

_Then you glanced up at me, as though you understood exactly what I was saying. You were smiling and thinking something that I could barely know, and in that deep voice of yours you said, "What's her name?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_Your boss. Her name. Or should I just put 'To the boss from hell…'?"_

"_No. No, don't do that. I need my job."_

_Your teasing worked and together we laughed._

"_Her name is Roxanne."_

"_Like the song?"_

"_Actually…" I sneered, thinking about the woman in question, the woman I knew better from watching her blinds open and close each day, than she knew herself, "…yes. Exactly like the song."_

"_Hm. I might have to meet this boss of yours."_

_You kept doodling words into both of the books, handing them to me one at a time, until you were done and just staring right back up at me. _

"_Thank you, Cat." Your smile was huge and your eyes sparkled under your glasses and hat. "I hope you like the book."_

"_Oh I will, don't worry."_

_There was a stint of silence before you winked once more and said, "Have a good day."_

"_You too," I choked then and turned away to head back through the store, back to my ordinary little life in the copy room at Rolling Stone, back out the door of the one place I'd ever get to see you again, by a lucky chance when your next book hit shelves. _

_I was halfway through the Social Sciences section, when I became too curious and threw back the cover of the top book, the one I knew was mine. And I couldn't believe what I was seeing when I did. Do you remember at all, what you wrote to me that day Mort…?"_

I was twisting my hands in the rope binding them behind my back when Catalina stopped the story again and directed her questioning attention to Mort. I was blindfolded with the bandana from his mouth, so I knew that unless she was kissing him, he was perfectly able to respond. My wrists occupied my mind for a long moment of silence, while I attempted to not necessarily break free, but at least loosen the tightness of them. And then I heard his voice and the universe stopped, like it always does.

"Why would I remember what I wrote? I meet a thousand fans a day at one of those things. And it was FIVE YEARS ago…"

I have to admit, for a split second, I felt a surge of guilt, of remorse for Catalina. Or rather _Cat. _Here she was, despite the position she'd tied us up in with threat, pouring her heart out and putting it on the line, and that's the answer he gave her. It lasted long enough to be a true emotion, but eventually, when she opened her mouth again, the sympathy I felt for her was gone and the hate returned.

"Well I thought you might have remembered it. After all, it was so _worth_ remembering."

She was walking again; I could hear her heels on the tile floor heading back towards him. I knew she made it when I heard him grunt and struggle against her.

"Don't touch me. Get your hands off me."

"_Relax_," her voice was like butter, like sex. That killed me the most I think. "I just want to show you what you wrote to me."

"Stop it," he growled at her, "What the fuck is your problem?"

She sighed and I could plainly hear her hands on his body, roving over his jeans, tugging at a belt, and planting kisses on skin. "I'm in _love_," she whispered darkly, yanking at my insides with a murderous sort of burn, one I hadn't felt in too many long years.

"Get off me. _Now--_" She cut him off mid word. And I knew why. I could hear it. Sloppy and forced. The kiss of a woman on the prowl. The kiss of a man who was trying to fight it.

And me? I was dead silent. Breathless. Reserved as any good victim should be.

_Survival. I just need to survive her jealousy. _

Their lips parted with a wet resistance in the air around me and he immediately snapped at her.

"Let me go. Fucking un-tie me!"

"Why? So we can finish this in the _bedroom_…?"

I heard an unsatisfied grunt come from him and I knew what she'd done to him and where.

"_Catalina, _Jesus, stop!"

"Not until you read this. It might change your mind."

There was a shuffle of something, pages, a book. _The book_.

"Look," her voice was soft, narrow and quiet. "Read it out loud. Be nice and share it with Roxy."

"No."

"Come on," she purred, against what I knew was his neck. It had to be his neck. It was too tempting, for any woman. "Look at your pretty wife." I wondered if he was. I just sat still and remote. "She's _dying_ to know how you _really_ feel about your fans…"

"Just get off me."

Catalina refused and instead, began reading it herself with a dissatisfied sigh.

"_Kitty Cat_…" that was already enough for me and I turned my face back in another direction, wishing that somehow I could block sound too. "I am thankful for your loyal readership, but I promise, there are a million other writers in the world, better than I can hope to be. Skip work, meet me in the Thriller section at 3 o'clock and I'll show you a few…signed, _Morton Rainey_."

Silence prevailed then. Silence because I think he remembered it all. Silence because Catalina had won another round of cat and mouse in our kitchen. Silence because even if I had the means to voice my opinion, I wouldn't have.

"You are such a romantic, and you don't even realize it."

"Ow!"

I didn't know what she did to him, but I knew it couldn't have been anything too bad. After all, he was the man she apparently _loved._ A pinch on the cheek maybe?

Her voice stung when she began to speak again.

"It's just not fair, though. I waited until three o'clock that day. I met you. I spent time with you. I thought we had such a _connection_. I thought that our afternoon in your hotel room meant something," there was a pout in her words, "I thought you wanted to be with me."

It was quiet for only half a second. I assumed that both of them were contemplating the obvious, what wasn't being said. And then Catalina returned to my senses.

"You gave me false hope that day, Mort. You let me fall in love with you, and give myself to you, and then you said you weren't looking to be with anyone. You took advantage of everything and you lied doing it _too_."

"I didn't want--"

She cut him off with a hiss, "Yes you did. Somewhere in your heart you wanted to find love again. You wanted someone to keep you warm and take care of you. We have every bit of proof we need sitting right over _there_."

I was sure she was pointing to me. And I was sure then, that he was looking at me.

"You broke my heart. And then, three months later, you snatched up _hers_."

"I didn't intentionally do it."

"But it happened. By some grace of God, you found Roxanne. Just like I always prayed you wouldn't. I prayed she wouldn't get her claws in you, like every other man she admired. And yet…" she sighed hopelessly and in ridicule, "…you _fell_ for her. You let her in where you never wanted to let me. You let her love you, like I'd dreamed I could."

"Catalina, you can't hurt my wife, my family, all over fate."

She laughed at that one, devilishly. "This isn't one of _your _stories, Mort. It's mine. You can't manipulate the characters. You can't change the ending. Only I can. And I _will_."

I gulped as I felt my heart sinking further into the pit of my stomach, tumbling around.

"You can help me finish it for her though. _Together_, we can show her what she ruined."

"No." Mort answered that one fast. He knew where it was going next. He remembered enough now.

"Aw, how come? You're not _uncomfortable_ are you?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

He was testing her and she was taking the bait. All of this I heard in the way they breathed alone. _Oh_, and the way she sauntered across the kitchen floor, heading for me.

"Let's ask Roxanne what she thinks." Her hand touched my cheek as she tugged the bandana from my eyes and teasingly said, "Welcome back to the party."

I just stared at her with envious eyes mostly. Envious that her hands were free, her heart was on her sleeve and she had my husband tied up to do what she wanted with him.

"I plan on this hurting," she mocked, tucking her long nails under the duck nape at my cheek, "Ready?"

Of course I was. _Bitch. _

She ripped the tape off in one fierce pull. The skin around my mouth was raw as my face flew to the side. I gasped for fresh air, and found it was polluted with her perfume. Catalina only gave me seconds to collect myself before she gripped my jaw and brought my face back up to hers.

"Christ! Stop it!"

She didn't listen to Mort though. What reason did she have for that?

"So tell me _boss_," her breath was warm on my nose, sweetened by coffee and the scent of my husband's lips, "You wouldn't mind if I went on with the story…" I watched her reach behind her and pull something out from the back of her jeans, "…would you?"

"No, don't! Catalina, stop!"

"_Sh_, Mr. Rainey. Let her answer the question. She might surprise you."

I had a feeling I knew what it was, by Mort's anxious growling and pulling at his chains. I was sure I knew what someone like her would have hidden in the back of her designer jeans, even before I heard the click and saw the barrel being raised to my temple.

"What's it gonna be, Roxy? My story," the gun ground into the bone of my face as I choked on the air stuck in my lungs, "…or your children?"

My eyes went wide then. Nothing had been said of them for almost an hour, although it was all I thought about sitting here. Now, the threat was imminent and being made.

I coughed in her hand and through gnawing teeth and tears begged, "Where are they?"

"They're fine. So are their grandparents. Safe and sound in town."

"D-don't hurt them."

"I won't have to," she scoffed with a tug of my face and a slide of the gun to my cheek, "If you let me finish the story, like a good girl."

I nodded quickly, not caring what she could say about her time spent with Mort. I knew what he looked like in the buff and I knew what he was like in bed. Nothing could be so embarrassing, so jealousy planted in my brain, as to make me risk my children's lives over it.

"Fine, tell it."

She smiled wickedly and tore the gun from my face, standing back as I cried.

"Just don't touch my children. _Please_."

"Oh, I have no intentions of putting another hand on _them_." Her gaze moved from me, seductively back at Mort. "Just _him_."

His eyes widened at me, then her.

"No fucking way. Don't come near me."

"Mort," I begged him through falling, choking tears. "_Please_. Max and Maddie."

I could see his heart stop in his chest when he stared at me, realizing that the risk remained.

"She's right." Catalina strolled back to him with the pistol swaying. "All it's going to take is one call. And it will be like New Year's _never happened_ in this house. If you catch my drift…"

She waved the gun up high, before bringing it to dance over his cheek, the neckline of his shirt; his lips and down his stomach to where I saw lower, what she'd already done to him. _It's not his fault, _I told myself, _unavoidable. Nature. Catalina…_

After a long time of my crying and her taunting, he finally murmured under his breath, "Not until you let her go. Not until I know she's driven away safe, to town." He was looking right at me, plotting silently in a way only I would ever know about him. We were one in the same. One in the same that Catalina would never understand.

She thought it over though with curious eyes, glaring at me and eventually winking down at him. "You know I came here to kill her, right? And now you want me to let her go." Catalina sighed and paced between us, the ready and cocked pistol dancing in the air. "Where's the fun in that?"

"It's the only way you're getting anywhere near me."

"Now, Mr. Rainey," she quipped at him, "You know that's not true. I have _this_."

The gun was lifted and twisted back at me, the barrel, aimed for a straight shot between my eyes. I didn't flinch but I heard him gulp with instant fear.

"I can shoot her right now. Blood is easy to clean off tile."

He tried to get loose against all impossibility.

"Stop aiming that at her! She's pregnant!"

Catalina's eyes shot back at me then, fiercely like before. She didn't like that. _Too bad._

"_My, my_ you have been busy keeping him entertained, haven't you Roxanne?"

There was a cool hatred in her voice.

"Why not charm your darling husband into saving his kids now, instead?"

Mort groaned out against the pain we both had on our bound wrists and ankles, struggling just to feel powerful, to feel as if he were saving me somehow. But he wasn't. Not by defying her. The gun was still staring me down, ready to show me its force, its sheer certainty in fate. It remained raised to me, but she turned and only focused her attention on him again.

"Promise to finish the story with me. _Our_ story. And she goes free."

His eyes grew shallow, focused on me. I could see him staring from the corner of my otherwise busily trained eye on the pistol. I felt him talking to me, telling me without words or sound that he wasn't going to let this end the way I was thinking it would. He was promising me that Catalina wouldn't get to finish her story. That only we would.

Did I believe it? _Well_, did I really have a choice?

"Fine," he exclaimed in surrender, "Untie her. It's cold outside. Get her coat and boots. The keys to the truck are by the front door." Mort sighed and I watched as the gun was lowered away from me. "I just want her safe, already."

Catalina tucked the gun in the back of her jeans again and sighed sexily, "I do love a man who cooperates with me." Then, she turned and began to do as he had said.

She untied my wrists, gently I might add, then each of my bare feet the same. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me up, where I could barely stand on weak legs. Mort watched the both of us carefully and eyed me all the more as Catalina forced me back through the kitchen toward the swinging door and then out of sight.

"Here," she shoved my black coat at me and I threw it on without saying a word. Then she kicked my boots to me one at a time, "These too."

I pulled them on and buttoned my coat. My legs were half bared from where Mort's boxers left me shivering, but it was better than being tied to a chair still. Catalina jangled the keys at me with an annoyed look on her face and I ripped them from her hand.

"He might want you safe," she snarled, "But I want you _gone_. And if you try anything other than getting out of town, I _will_ make that call."

I eyed her with a scowl and tugged my wool cap on.

"Is that a promise, Catalina?"

She said nothing. She just watched as I turned with a stomp of my boots, grabbed my bag, and tore through the screen door. I was tripping in snow, headed to the Explorer when I heard the front door lock behind me and smiled faintly. I got in the car, turned the frozen ignition over, and pulled away from the house. My eye was trained on her parked red Mercedes in the rearview mirror as I went, growling.

_Goddamn Mercedes owners._

"This isn't over yet, _bitch_. You've messed with the wrong murderer's wife."


	24. Swing Batter Swing

**Chapter 23: Swing Batter Swing**

* * *

I was still in the kitchen, still tied up and thanking a higher power that I didn't hear any screams or gunfire or high speed car chases in the iced driveway. But then that's when Catalina returned sneakily through the swinging door. She stopped, watching me writhe for a few seconds more, and just smiled, as if she had nothing better to do with her day, or her life than all of this.

"You kept me here to fucking stare at me?"

With a coy wink she moved inside the kitchen and towards me, the pistol dancing around in one hand as her other, free right palm came to rest on my shoulder.

"I could do that, couldn't I? Since, I'm quite obviously in control today."

"Aren't you special?" I jeered, tugging at the metal that was drilling into my wrists. "Will you get these things off of me already?"

She pressed the gun barrel to my temple, letting it slide against my jaw bone.

"How do I know you'll still cooperate if I do that? How do I know," she paused with a throaty sigh, swung her leg over both of mine, and again, sat down on the spot where she knew she had already consistently derived unwarranted attention. "How do I know you'll participate with me, Mr. Rainey?"

She tried to kiss me and I grunted, throwing my face away out of instinct, rather than intelligence. Catalina didn't like that I wasn't playing her game and I was most likely taking baby steps towards things getting worse for everyone else in my life.

"Why won't you kiss me? I thought you liked my kisses. You said you did."

"That was six years ago, before I had a wife. Before, I was TAKEN, Catalina."

"But your wife's gone now."

She pouted with purposeful scheme in her eyes, and then slowly, brought her lips back to mine. Her breath was roaring with heat, the kind that makes spinal columns wobble of their own accord, even if a man's properly sitting down and tied against the jolt. I didn't want to kiss her, I didn't want her anywhere near me, but all I could see when she looked at me, when her mouth pressed solidly, wetly to mine, were all the things her single phone call could do to my kids, to Roxanne.

And as much as I hated myself for it, that's what made me consent.

Catalina's lips were deliberate but sensual, as though she'd waited every second of every day for the last six years to kiss me like that. Her thighs gripped my legs tighter, her fingers roved through my hair without restraint, without concern, and she consistently made use of the hardened middle she'd created by grinding against me until I felt like I couldn't breathe, until I felt so guilty that I wished she would just finish the job and kill me afterwards.

She moaned at my lips and pulled away carefully to look down richly into my eyes.

"Tell me you missed it. Tell me you missed me, Mort."

I wrinkled my brow nervously, angrily at her.

"Say it," she began again, bringing her tongue to slide over my lips, taunting an entrance that I couldn't let myself give willingly. "Say you want me. Say I'm all you _ever_ wanted."

I groaned against her activity, her nails digging into my shoulders for animalistic leverage, and her tongue forcing its way through my lips without a care to if I really wanted it or not.

It didn't matter. She had already decided for me years ago.

* * *

_Oh what? You have a high school crush on my husband? You want to threaten my family and me to get to him? You want to pretend to be some Italian, lip smacking bimbo, because you're too scared we might remember you as the nerd you really are?_

_Of course your life is in danger._

I drove away from the house, but I didn't leave the lake. Hell, I didn't even leave the square mile of property between our house and Mort's old cabin. I ditched the truck in the woods and immediately dialed Jane.

She answered on the first ring.

"_Roxanne?"_

"Jane. Are you still back in town?

"_Yeah, we were just brining the kids back for--"_

"No. _Don't_. You need to listen to me, okay?"

She agreed, hesitantly. I didn't blame her.

"There's a situation at the house. You and Todd have to drive out of town with the kids. I need you to get on the highway and head back to Manhattan. The directions to my sister's house are saved in the GPS. Go there and wait until I call again. Okay?"

"_Roxanne, what's going on?"_

I could hear the sudden angst in her voice and I hated having to do it, but I simply replied, "Just get to Sydney's. I'll let her know you're on your way. I love you guys." And then I hung up. I didn't need the emotional distraction. Not now. Not when I knew they would all four be perfectly fine if they went and I stayed.

From there, I immediately texted Sydney as I leapt from the Explorer (freezing my ass off I might add) and began trampling through the snowy woods back in the direction of the house. I wasn't going through the front door, not when I knew there was a perfectly good place to do 'one stop shopping' in the backyard, my grandfather's old shed.

It was a fast run to the property again, in nothing but Mort's underwear and my boots. I made it to the old shed, threw back the heavy wooden door with a squeak and trudged inside after what I knew was still there. In the corner, next to the garden shears and rake, it had never left that spot.

_Knew it. _

I lifted it by the handle, running my hand down against its worn and chipped curve, loving the simple power of it in my hands already. My grandpa's old Louisville Slugger, 1954. The one I learned to hit with in this same backyard. The one that I knew could easily serve a new purpose, a desperate one.

I ran out of the shed, stomped though the heavy snow bank across the backyard, past the pool, until I made it around the angled turn of the house. My back hit the frozen, creaking exterior wall and my eyes darted up to the second, then the third story window.

_To our room. _

I had a feeling Catalina wouldn't have wasted that much time, forcing him to walk three flights of stairs just to take advantage of what didn't belong to her. I moved down the side of the house to where my grandmother's old rose vines grew tangled and lifeless into their ancient trelice. I wasn't sure if it could hold my weight, and I wasn't sure I should have been climbing when I was four weeks pregnant either. But I also knew I didn't go through everything with Ethan and the Klein mob and raising two kids with Mort, to lose him to this bitch.

Instead, I pulled my cell phone back out of my coat pocket and dialed three little numbers. It rang only once and just like Jane, they answered my plea.

**"_NYPD dispatcher 1796, what is your emergency?"_**

"Hi. I need to report a murder."

**"_A murder of who, ma'am? And what is your location?"_**

I was about to answer her, _'the crazy whore who's ruining my life,'_ when my view of dead vines was cleared for a single detail. The vision of a shining red Mercedes came back to me and I smiled wickedly as I trudged through the snow towards the front drive of the house. I hadn't wanted to go anywhere near the front, but it was too fair a start to this rampage of mine to not adjust the ploy a little and throw a diversion into the mix.

And just like I imagined, there it was, waiting for _Roxy Love's_ own finishing touch.

**"_Ma'am, your location. Please?"_**

I twirled the bat in my free hand and headed for the glinting car with a readied, icy sigh.

"Tashmore Lake."

Before I could hear the woman's response clearly, I hung up and stepped to the driver's side of the Mercedes, shivering, but not with the cold. With anticipation, excitement, deviant thrill. Then I heard my grandfather somewhere in my mind, preparing me at seven years old.

"_Here's comes the pitch. You ready Roxy Doll?"_

"_Ready."_

"_Up and swing! Swing Roxanne!"_

So I did.

* * *

Catalina's tongue was lost somewhere in my mouth, somewhere I was trying to ignore, somewhere that also met the sensation of her fingernails scratching my skin as she carefully cut through my shirt, ripping it from me.

In my head I was nowhere near Catalina. Way up there where all my thoughts and ideas and brilliant plots came from was where I was hiding. It was where I was dancing around in my underwear with an air guitar and Aerosmith blasting out of the speakers, pretending I was God's gift to the world. It was where Roxanne was naked beneath me, begging, pleading for more of me. I gave myself to Catalina, only because she could never know that I was really giving myself to Roxanne, over and over again, the entire time.

She laughed wickedly as her lips left my mouth, for the open, sweating skin of my neck, where she bit down heartily.

"_Christ_," I growled at her as she descended even further, falling to the tile on her knees.

I was trying desperately to hold back all of my inhibitions, hold back all of my words and thoughts and developed insults for her. Her fingers were quick with the button and zipper of my jeans, as if she'd practiced the timing of this event, of this fantasy of hers, a million or more times that morning alone. She wasted no second in reaching within, with her warm, tantalizing hands, and squeezing what she knew was there.

She rocked on her high heels between my legs, smiling up at me with a wink, watching my own eyes roll back and forth inside of my head. "Don't worry," she whispered, her face slowly dropping down to the one place that I wished in that moment didn't even exist anymore. "I'll make it all _better_."

And believe me…I have no doubts that she would have. At least, she would have made better the situation of being teased for an hour with a hard on you can't shake, for a woman you want to chop into little pieces and hide in the walls of your house.

_Hmm, that's a good one actually. Mental writing note taken._

But the very second I even felt her breath come remotely close to where my body already burned and tingled and hated her presence, there was a startling sound from somewhere else, outside. It sounded like it was a mile away at first. But when the noise came again, louder, a cracking, crashing, tormented sort of racket, I realized it was closer than I thought.

Catalina was startled away from my lap, pushing herself up with a growl of annoyance, as she ignored my once so desired cock, for the sound of breaking glass. She lifted the pistol from the table and readied the trigger right in front of me, "That better not be your _stupid,_ bitch wife."

I gulped for the simple fear of the possibility. And before I could demand through conspiracy that Catalina ignore it for me, for what she'd started, to occupy her time instead, she was gone through the swinging door.

* * *

What can I say? I have an affinity for drama. I am a writer after all.

The car was totaled, by little more than the disheveled heart of a married woman and the wrong end of a baseball bat that she had first learned to swing with in that same front yard.

_Poetic, huh?_ _Talk about a full circle. Maybe I should write the book…_

The thought was tossed aside when I heard stomping high heels inside the otherwise quiet house, then the click of the front door's lock. I darted from the scene of the crime, like any good criminal, leaving nothing but mock evidence of my ever being there at all.

Luckily, I'd already found my escape route and I ran to the rose trelice on the side of the house again. My hands were quick, the bat still in one, and the other maneuvering around frozen thorns and broken pieces of wood. I climbed that thing like an expert, and wondered the whole time with a smile on my face, why I had never attempted it as a kid.

_My grandmother would have murdered me herself, that's why._

There were screams and hollering from the front drive, and even though I knew what she was saying and what she was threatening of the perpetrator, namely me, I didn't pay Catalina any attention. I was focused, driven, and determined to get into the house and get my husband out.

At the top of the trelice, I had to fight with the second story window for a few seconds, which felt like hours, until it finally budged open with a shatter of ice around its seal. I forced it higher, climbed the extra thatch or two of the ancient ladder and slid inside to the warmth of a roaring fire and the carpet of the guest bedroom where Jane and Todd had been staying.

I could hear Catalina outside for only a second more, before there was a slam of the front door, a stomping of heels again across wood floors, and then the shove of the swinging door to the kitchen. I grinned knowingly, having always loved this detail about my grandparents' house most: when it was quiet, you could hear every existing leaky faucet, or frozen pipe, or creaky stair. It was going to make this a lot easier for me.

I jumped to my feet, bat in hand, kicked off my wet boots and ripped away my coat. I was back to my proper devices, right where I began this morning, in nothing but men's boxers and a slept in, _sexed in_ dress shirt.

_Who says I need to wear Prada heels to kill like her? Ha._

The upstairs office was across the hall from the guest room, so I moved quickly, fluidly, like a ghost, through the door and into the next room. I ran bare foot for the drawer of the desk, the one with the false bottom that we'd forgotten to 'take out' when we moved and sold the house years before. Now that we were back though, and now that I needed what was inside, it was a good thing we hadn't.

I laughed under my breath as I ripped the wood bottom from the drawer and pulled out the semi automatic from within. It glinted in the sunlight of the room, asking to be used all over again. This was _the_ gun, Mort's gun, the one that very nearly took care of his cheating ex-wife in his first go round with the law. The one that he used to kill Ethan with, in the lone, fearful cabin of that yacht where I had laid silently begging to be rescued.

_I know, I know. We murdering writers are a rather romantic, ironic sort of bunch. Aren't we?_

Needless to say, I wasn't half done romancing the pants of this chick yet. On my way back out of the office, at the exact moment that I heard the slamming of another door downstairs, I saw something out of the corner of my eye, something rather attention worthy in my life. Settled neatly, on the top of a pile of CD's next to the office stereo, was an old friend, an old '_borrowed'_ friend, rather. I stepped back and lifted the bright red album, with its slithering white wing dancing off the cover, as if in some sort of preternatural flight. As if it was calling me to it.

I shook my head with a short laugh, opened the case, and threw the CD into the stereo. I knew exactly what would happen when I pressed the small black button next to 'play'. I knew exactly who would hear this, where, anywhere in fact that they happened to wander through the house.

I knew exactly what I was doing, long before I began to further piss Satan herself off.

* * *

I was seconds away from watching the world end.

Seconds away, from watching Catalina dial her cell phone and place the call that she'd warned of, delivering the green light that would dash any and all hope of my ever seeing Roxanne's _red light_, again. She was going to take the only things that had ever mattered to me at all, off this planet and out of my life for good.

Her finger hit the talk button, just as she grabbed a fistful of my hair and whispered darkly in my ear, "She had her chance. Now you can live with knowing she wasted it, for the rest of your life."

She didn't let go when the voice of a gruff man answered on the other end. She didn't let go when I heard her say, _'She didn't leave. They're still in town. Take care of it.'_ But when there was the force of a thousand needles seething out of the kitchen intercom box near the door, draining demonic-like from the speaker and into our ears, that's when she let go of my hair and threw her phone down.

And that's when I also knew, merely by the pricking, underlying message of a lyric or two, that Catalina's plan had already been compromised, whether she liked it or not.

**"_I was 19 years old. I had just gotten out of high school practically. And there I was, following around Steven Tyler and Joey Kramer. It was insane."_**

I remembered how her eyes lit up that first night in my cabin, how she'd gushed over the topic of that tattoo. The one I simply couldn't get enough of, even at that point.

**"_We were on Sunset Strip at four in the morning. They had all drank way too much, me included, and there was a tattoo parlor, right there across the street. Steven was like, 'You need to get yourself branded, Roxy. My little Roxy Love.'"_**

I remembered being so amused at the goofy grin on her face. She was something else.

**"_And that was that. I got the tattoo. I officially became theirs."_**

**"_I'm guessing that's where 'Roxy Love' originated then?"_**

_**She giggled like a little girl and nodded helplessly. **_

**"_It was Steven Tyler. I had an obligation to use that name then. A groupie's debt."_**

And now, sitting there under Catalina's wiry, angered eyes, I had to bite and choke on my tongue just to keep from laughing at the sound, the pressure of the beat, of the drums and electric guitars and lady-like screeching I knew so well.

_Sweet Emotion, 1975. The year she was born. My little Aerosmith girl._

The thought of which alone, made it impossible for me not to be humored.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" Catalina snapped, pressing the pistol to my cheek again. "She might be entertaining now, but she won't be half that when she's DEAD."

Her growl was met with seriousness for a moment, as I saw the blood boiling up in her eyes with the pounding bass and the rattling of the house's walls around us. That's when she shoved my face with the gun, turning it in a separate direction, thinking she was testing me, thinking she was making a threat.

But she only did one thing. She lent me hope.

"Roxanne thinks she's so smart, she thinks she's saving you I'm sure…"

The hissing of Catalina's voice was ignored completely. The pin barrel of the gun, ignored. Nothing else mattered in that moment, except for the shadow of a face behind a pane of glass in the French parlor doors. The ones Catalina couldn't see in her anger, with her back turned and her intimidation over me.

"…she's got another thing coming if she thinks she's just going to come back in this house and pull the rug right from under me…"

My eyes bulged as I saw Roxanne carefully step from around the doorway, into the kitchen, barefoot, in my shirt, my boxers, gently swinging a baseball bat through the air overhead and above all else, smiling like a pure fool. Tiny details unraveled before me then, all in slow motion.

I noticed the song change, _Rag Doll, 1987. How appropriate this was about to be…_

I noticed Catalina's voice soften one more time, as she pressed her mouth to my ear with a whisper dripping in disdain, "I'm sorry it had to come to this, but we still have each other."

Then, the last thing I saw was a flicker of sea green from across the room. And that's when I knew, long before Catalina, long before Roxanne, that all of this was for something. If only to prove everlastingly, that I couldn't live, _literally_, without her in my life and on my side.

"Oh coffee girl?"

Catalina spun around in front of me, staring Roxanne down wildly, the pistol trembling in her hand, and I had to remind myself not to laugh and ruin it.

"Can you get me an iced venti, with a double expresso shot? Thanks."

There was a tired little grunt to follow Roxanne's snide tease and the gun was raised.

"You _whore_. I told you to get lost. I warned you."

"Guess I failed the test."

Catalina had the gun aimed and cocked in Roxanne's direction when I noticed the baseball bat come swooping down thickly, readily. I hadn't known it before, _shamefully_ I must admit, but my girl has an arm like Sammy Sosa, like the Great Bambino, like John Wayne on home base. The pistol flew out of Catalina's hand as the bat cracked a half a dozen bones in her hand and she screamed like mad, heaving for air, for control of the situation again. But it was long gone.

"You really don't know either of us at all, do you _Kitty Cat_?"

The tease was undoing me at the seams, the pure vile in Roxanne's voice, aimed not at me, the copyrighter of such a name, but at the woman who had lived upon its lack of meaning for too many years already.

"It's like you walked into the lion's den disguised as a tiger. And look at your pretty little stripes."

Catalina sucked in air and shook the pain in her hand away as she stood straight again.

"Don't touch me with that thing."

Roxanne ignored the plea.

"I've killed another woman over this same pitiful sort of thing before, you know. She landed herself in the Hudson River after sleeping with my fiancé." There was a twisted smirk on her face as she came closer to Catalina with the bat swaying in the air over her shoulder. "You're trying to steal my husband. Where the hell do you think you'll end up?"

There was laugh that came from between Catalina's lips as my eyes moved from the chipped edge of Roxanne's bat to her humored victim again, who was slowly moving towards my lap.

"I don't know," she teased, relaxing on my legs, stretched across my bare chest. "But this is where I _want_ to _be_."

"Get up."

Roxanne twirled the bat with continued threat.

"Or what? You'll hit me with that thing? And risk damaging your husband's lovely face too?"

Catalina stroked my cheeks and I forced my face from her touch.

"Go on, boss. Let's see how good your aim is on a moving object. Instead of just a $100,000 car."

I glanced back to the bat in Roxanne's hand then, noticing only at that moment, the chalked smear of red paint along the cracked wood. I smiled at her when she caught my eye and she just fiercely turned her attention down to Catalina again.

"Give me the keys to the handcuffs. That's all I want. There's no reason to kill you. I already called the police."

"Well you are just full of surprises today, aren't you Miss Love?"

Catalina got up from me then, slowly stepping towards Roxanne as she tugged a chain out from her shirt and between her heaving breasts and let it dangle on her neck in the kitchen light.

"Do you mean these keys? The ones to unlock that poor, _miserably erect_ man over there?"

"Give them to me, Catalina."

"Ask nicely," she taunted back.

My eyes focused on Roxanne's one last time, and that was all it took, that was the last straw. I knew her so well that I had timed perfectly when to look for the roll of her eyes, the deep, agitated sigh that was a preamble to her fury, and lastly, the swing of that menacing bat.

There was half a second between the sound of it cutting through air and the haunting echo of it smacking into a delicate jaw bone. Then I counted another second, which brought Catalina's dizzying and abused body tumbling to the tile at my feet. Her skull was the last thing I heard crack.

Just like a rag dolls'.

'_Give it all you got until you're put out of your misery…'_

…by my girl.


	25. Hit the Ground Running

**Chapter 24: Hit the Ground Running**

* * *

_I did it. I actually did it. I hit her. _

I knew I still had it in me, I knew it was there. But it was standing bare foot on the tile by her lifeless form, watching the blood seep from between her lips and hair follicles that finally shook me into the truth, the reality of what I'd done.

Again.

That and his voice. "Roxy. Honey?"

I was in another galaxy altogether. One where I could hear him, I could understand him trying to get my attention, but could hardly think to move or react to it. I was still falling from a peak.

"Hey, Roxanne, look at me."

I lifted my face from the scene below, felt the bat heavily swaying at my side, and then got lost in the midst of blackness, of the rich, healthy life that I saw in his eyes.

"You with me? You okay?"

He always asked the strangest things at all the wrong times.

I nodded though, "Fine."

"Good," he whispered back with a smile. "You wanna get those keys now?"

I glanced down at Catalina and saw the chain and the keys dangling off her on the floor, seeping in the bank of a bloodstream near her jaw. There they were. It registered all over again, why I had hit her. I wanted _those_, to unlock, _him_. Reaching to the floor, I tugged them off her neck and let her blood stain my palm for a second before I stepped over her to get to Mort. Once there, I worked the dripping key into the lock on the cuffs, unwound them from his wrists and the chair, and took a much needed breath.

After rubbing at the tender skin of his wrists, unraveling the rope from around his burned ankles, and checking for Catalina's lack of pulse, he startled me from my otherwise distant thoughts, by his arm hooking around my waist as he lifted me clear from the kitchen floor and carried me out of the swinging door. I held onto his neck, buried my face in his hair and actually started to cry. I didn't know why I was. I hadn't cried when I killed Lindsey and nearly Ethan too.

Why did I feel remorse over my own fear now? Because I had a family to worry about too? Because I had killed for not only myself, but for my children?

I didn't have a clue. Not a stitch of one.

Mort took me upstairs, back to the second floor, then higher to our room on the third floor, locking the door behind him as he sat me on my feet. I wobbled there for a long time, in the middle of the room, a baseball bat still in my one hand and the pinch of a gun tucked inside of his boxer's at my waist. I watched as he shuffled around me, throwing things into a duffel bag and ripping clothes from out of the dresser. And then, he came to me, with jeans and a sweater.

"Roxanne?" He dropped the clothes to the floor and bent down to look into my lowered eyes. He must have seen something I didn't know existed, just from the way he held my face in the hands, searching, pouting almost. "Baby, it's alright. They're going to be fine."

That's what brought me back into focus.

"What?"

"The kids, my parents. I know they're fine. But we have to go and find them, okay?"

"Mort the kids aren't here." I rubbed my head where a headache was starting and he brushed the hair from my eyes.

"Where are they?"

"I told your mom to drive to Sydney's. They're in Manhattan."

At this, he smiled and held my face softer, trying to coax the same from me.

"You are something else…"

I was falling in and out of focus again, only half hearing and seeing things. I knew a moment later that he was unbuttoning his dirtied dress shirt, leaving me half exposed to the cold room and light of day pouring in. I watched as he laughed and tugged the gun from the waistband of his boxers at my waist, gently tossing it across to the bed.

He whispered, "Your plan B I presume," in my ear, as he tugged a fresh sweater over my head.

I was concentrated in thought as he removed his boxers and replaced them for me with fresh lace something or other and a pair of jeans. I was there, the whole time, as he wiped the blood from the nape of my neck where Catalina had hit me, from what felt like days ago now. I was right there, as he washed the blood from my hands and helped me get my boots and coat back on. And even though I could see and feel everything, I was still somewhere else at the same time, a strange sort of waiting room in my mind, where I was waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

Already.

"We'll get on the interstate and head for your sister's."

"No," I finally stopped him, pulling at his arm. "We can't go. The police. They're coming."

They still weren't there, even though a sufficient amount of time had passed since I called, but I knew when they did show up and we weren't here, it would be hell and then some. I didn't want any more issues with the New York law enforcement out here on the lake. We'd had our fair share of that for one lifetime as far as I was concerned.

"Roxy, when did you call?"

I shrugged, "Maybe thirty minutes ago."

Mort rolled his eyes and grabbed the gun, then my hand, pulling me to the door. "They aren't coming."

"Yes, they are."

He shook his head, tossed the bag over his shoulder and tugged me down the stairs, still less than interested in the idea of sticking around for the cops who were forever trying to put him away. I didn't blame him, but I didn't want to run and have to deal with something worse. He always just wanted to run.

"If they show up and find her, then they'll end up calling us anyway. We'll tell them we went to find our kids, the ones she threatened to kill. They'll understand that."

"Mort--"

I attempted to hold back on the strength of his walking movement down the stairs, through the living room and towards the front foyer of the house.

"They're going to throw me in jail. Or both of us! Stop!"

"NO. Damn it," he growled, reaching out for a scarf from the rack at the door and tying it around my neck.

I fell against the wall as he pulled his boots on, half defeated by life, and half defeated by my own temper, my own will to defend, like all good mothers should. The tears weren't coming this time, only short, raspy breaths. Mort finished tying his boots and stepped back to me, holding my waist gently as he yanked one of my snow caps, the green one, on top of my head. His breath was warm on my face, promising, loving, and I realized then why I had done all of this, why I had left Catalina in a crumpled, bleeding mess on our kitchen floor.

"You amazed me in there. You stole my heart all over again. You know that?"

He turned my chin up higher, peering down into my eyes as I examined his carefully.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I won't let them take you anywhere."

My lip quivered as his mouth came to mine, "Y-you swear?"

He nodded and held the back of my head softly, bringing my lips to match his, to be consumed by the heartache and sudden determination of his. It was like being healed and absolved of all my sins and crimes, all over again. He tasted like he'd been through the trenches of war and back, just to be able to hold me there like that, to kiss me.

I let him hold my mouth captive in a stumble for the door, all the way out onto the porch and practically down to the driveway. When we were there though, we realized that the only car was Catalina's heavily trashed Mercedes. Mort laughed and patted my cheek when he saw the already well assessed damage of non-existing windows and thorough denting. His favorite part, as I imagined it would be if he ever saw it, was the _Roxy Love _scratched into the hood by way of our truck's keys.

"Signing a masterpiece, were you Picasso?"

I sighed and grabbed his arm, pulling him off toward the woods where I had parked the Explorer for safe keeping. In record time, we trampled to where it sat half sunken in snow that had since fallen, and jumped inside to make our getaway. Mort threw back the keys in ignition though, and only one sound came to our ears.

**CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.**

"Oh you've got to be shitting me," he reverberated the keys again, forcing harder on the engine with a tap on the gas, but nothing happened. "Fuck."

He rammed his foot against the pedal only that much harder then, doing the same with the ignition. I pulled on his arm, as if reprimanding a child in a fit.

"It's too cold. You're only making it worse. Stop!"

His fists slammed into the wheel before he kicked open the door of the truck and ran out into the snow again. The hood was popped by the time I had gotten out to stand beside him, watching as he toyed with a few things I had no clue about, shaking my head at his temper the entire time.

"Fucking radiator's frozen."

He continued to mumble and growl at a distance as I slowly walked off, aimlessly I guess, for no apparent reason except to wait for red and blue flashing lights playing against all the white around us. I knew they'd be coming soon, whether he liked it or not. They were the police, and even if they weren't too fond of this lake and all of the attention it got criminally, especially by us, they were obligated to show up, _eventually_.

"Roxanne, I'm gonna go back up to the house to grab--"

Mort's voice was cut, of his personal devices, and it made me turn out of curiosity, to know the rest of his statement. When I did though, I realized it was cut by instant panic, not any paid attention to the frozen guts of the car. His panic was mine, in a flash.

"Running from the law so soon? I thought you Rainey's usually waited until one of you were in jail, or in a hospital bed?"

I gulped and tried to move my feet, but they wouldn't budge. Not with a pistol pointed at me all over again, by the woman, the demon I thought I'd finally beaten. She was unstoppable, and like a cat, _ironically_, seemed to have more than one possibility of life.

"I have to admit you make a good team. The baseball bat, the checking of my pulse, the getaway car hidden in the woods." Catalina smirked with a bloodied lip, swollen eye and forehead, and staggered toward me with the gun. "If only the darn thing had started, huh? If only you'd hit me a little harder with that rookie swing of yours, Roxy. Maybe you'd have gotten away. _Maybe--"_

She raised the gun and cocked it back at the same time that I heard a shuffle of boots in snow behind me, at the truck, where Mort had been. Where he wasn't anymore, because I could see a shadow of him at my side, rushing toward me the same way Catalina's gun directed all of its attention on me. I saw her finger wriggle against the trigger. I heard the sound of a rushing bullet, of a fired gun. I heard my own scream. But I never felt a bullet cutting through me. I only felt Mort.

Beneath him, I landed in a soft pile of snow, jolted, weary, but alive. He covered me entirely, hugging my waist, his face buried near my chest when I finally was able to glance up again from the ground.

"Mort."

Catalina was watching from a close distance, breathing heavily, eyeing me strangely.

"Mort?"

He didn't answer me. Of course he didn't answer me. _How stupid did I have to be?_

My questions were all answered when I felt a warm trickle of something on my stomach, where his was pressed to mine, unmoving and barely inhaling. My head shifted in a sideways glance to the white ground and saw it painted with droplets of red. My heart beat fiercely as I struggled to make him answer me, to make him listen and get up. All the while, avoiding the fact that Catalina still had a gun aimed toward me and that she was gasping with sobs of her own.

"Mort, get up! _Please_!"

"I didn't want to shoot him!" She yelled at me, the wetness soaking her cheeks like mine. "I never meant to kill him! I wanted to kill you!"

And she proved it, by trudging towards me in the snow bank, hands wired tightly on the gun this time to be sure of the aim she had. She was three feet away from finishing off the job, when I felt something poking out of the back pocket of Mort's jeans and tugged at it, thinking that it was at least a fair enough shot at survival.

_What else did I have to lose now?_

Her finger tapped the trigger of her gun and again, I heard that imminent clicking in my mind.

**CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.**

But it wasn't the truck this time. It was Catalina. Her last defense was clicking with a warning that said, '_You forgot to add bullets. Pitiful, stupid woman.'_

When I heard the red flag and saw it plastered on her face, that's when I cocked back the handgun in my own hand, leveled it to where she was tripping backwards to get away, and--

**BANG.**

Not click. **BANG.**

And for decent measure, as I half sat up from under my bleeding husband, I let the trigger play under my sensitive index finger one more time and listened for the imminent, fatal--

**BANG.**

Catalina made it one foot before she limply toppled down into the snow a yard away from where I was pinned under Mort's weight. The handgun fell from my hands with a shake. All I could do was think of Mort then, still in my lap, still shot. I wrapped my arms around him, crying a river before I even managed to turn him over onto his back in the snow. His face was growing pale already, his nose red from the cold, but his chest faintly rising and falling.

"Mort…Mort,_ please_—look at me. You're okay--"

My head dropped to his chest, concentrating on the tired pitter patter of his heart beneath his heavy coat and drowsiness and semi-consciousness. Tears fell down from my cheeks to mix with the blood, while my eyes attempted to avoid paying attention to the thick bullet wound mere centimeters from where I laid near his heart.

"I'm so sorry—" I choked, unable to tear myself away to help him. I couldn't leave that wispy sound of his heart beating, I was drawn to it. So much so, that it wasn't until the sound of their engines were practically on top of the scene where we laid in the cold, that I even noticed the echo of a siren and saw the twirling police lights dancing in the white fir trees.

I was mesmerized with melancholy daydreams.


	26. Mending Me Madly

**Chapter 25: Mending Me Madly**

* * *

**Highland Memorial Hospital – Rochester, New York**

_5:23 PM_

**

* * *

**

"Ma'am? Mrs. Rainey, ma'am?"

I was still breathing. _Good. _I could feel my heart beating. _Check. _But a whole part of me was missing, an unexplainable part that you can't convince a police officer or doctor of. That part was behind those doors, the thick, swinging, red ones labeled, **EMERGENCY OPERATION**.

That part of me was making it difficult to talk. Even though I knew I had to.

"Mrs. Rainey? Are you alright?"

I turned my sodden eyes up into the florescent light again, catching the young officer's baby blue-eyed stare. All I wanted was cinnamon brown and those charcoal orbs back.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Here you go." He handed me another tissue from his pocket. "I only have a few more questions. If that's alright?"

"Of course. Go ahead."

He hesitated, making sure I was as well as I let on, and then scanned a small notepad in his hand.

"Your husband, Mr. Rainey, how did you say he knew Miss Catalina Alvares?"

With a deep breath, I responded. "We both knew her. Before."

"Before _when,_ exactly?"

"She worked in my office, as an intern. Five years ago."

"The Rolling Stone offices on 83rd in Manhattan, ma'am?"

I nodded and blew my nose.

"And your husband? How was he acquainted with the girl?"

This was the tricky part, the thing I didn't want to ever have to talk about again after this cop finished his questionnaire.

"He—they--" I was choking up again, wiping furiously at tears that formed over and over at the same rate, just staring at those two doors, counting the number of times they whipped open and shut without Mort. "She was a fan of his. They met at one of his book signings in February, the same year she came to work at the magazine."

The officer jotted all this down. Then turned his eyes back up, solemnly, as respectfully as possible and asked, "Were they friends beyond that, ma'am?"

I looked directly at him, searching in his eyes for something that said I didn't need to answer or embarrass myself with the truth. But there was nothing. He had to know.

I nodded gently again, "For that one day. Yes."

His silence and havoc note taking told me that he understood.

"One more question, if you don't mind?"

"No. I don't."

"It might seem a little unorthodox Mrs. Rainey, _but--"_ he paused and pulled something from his coat pocket. It was a rolled up issue of that month's _Rolling Stone_. I wasn't sure I understood, until he held it out towards me with a tired, hopeful grin and asked politely, "Would you mind terribly, signing this for me? I'm a huge fan of your work."

My lip shook uncontrollably from the change of pace in conversation, from undoubtedly upsetting to grateful, soothing even.

"No," I laughed softly, "I wouldn't mind that at all."

And with a black sharpie marker that made me think far too heavily about the past, about the only thing that ever mattered to me, I signed with a joking sob right across Angelina Jolie's half covered breasts, the ones that reminded me of a certain Italian seductress.

"I really appreciate it, ma'am. I think I've read your articles every, _single_ month since you wrote your first expose on Aerosmith. That was the best."

I was smiling again, thanks to this nice guy who came out of nowhere to do his job and help me briefly remember a part of me that hadn't seen the light of day in a while. The part deep down in the center of my being, that can only be brought out by sincere humbleness, by honest modesty of myself. I hadn't seen her in a long time.

But as I said, it was a brief visit with the past, when only a split moment later, an emergency nurse's aide was interrupting with an invitation for me to follow her, _finally_.

"Thank you again, Mrs. Rainey."

The officer patted me gently on the back with reassurance and led me off towards the nurse. Then she walked in silence, saying nothing, giving me nothing to go on, except the squeak of her shoes as the imminent bread crumb trail to something else. I didn't know if it would be bad, or good, or anything at all. But at least they were taking me _through_ the doors this time.

At least I was getting closer to him.

* * *

_**She relaxed into me further, letting the soap bubbles and warm water between her skin and mine act as nothing but a teasing lubricant of what was to come. Just as soon as she stopped wiggling and let me finish reading, that is.**_

**"_What's so fascinating about reading that?"_**

_**Roxanne lifted her wine glass from the tiled edge of the tub, gulping down the rest as I looked at her curiously from the corner of my eye. **_

**"_You have me naked and drunk in a tub of bubbles. And you want to read that instead?"_**

**"_I'm invested in it now. Relax. The bubbles aren't going anywhere."_**

_**I slanted off with the end of the article, eyeing up the photographs she'd taken, the ones I loved just because they were hers. She'd taken the drive to Knoxville months ago, but seeing her writing, her re-cap of what she lived and breathed and experienced while there without me, was refreshing. It was why Rolling Stone owed her their balls most days of the week.**_

**"_Are you quite satisfied with me now? Can we get back to business?"_**

_**I shut the magazine and tossed it across the bathroom floor, snarling with a wicked eye that made her jump in anticipation. She sat twirling her empty wine glass against her tongue and lips, waiting as I slid through the bubbling mess of strawberry scented water to find her legs. I tugged her towards me with a wave rushing over the edge and onto the floor as she screeched with a giggle. **_

_**When her face was visible through a dust of bubbles and steam, I let her rest across the rounded frame of the porcelain tub, her arms outstretched and her legs wrapped firmly around my waist. I held her there for thirty seconds, staring down longingly at her laughing green eyes in the faint candlelight. **_

**"_Make love to me until I forget my own name."_**

_**Her smile was light, playful and tempting as I snagged her mouth in mine. With the silence and her thighs' compliance in pulling me ever closer to where she needed me, I plunged deep and fast within her hidden heat. And I stayed there, until the sun came up over the Blue Ridge and the kids' desperate crying reminded her who she was all over again.** _

The blurriness was fading, fast. It had been so strong for so long, hours maybe, days, years quite possibly. And now, all of a sudden, the fog was being lifted like it had never been there at all.

"_Welcome back, Mr. Rainey," _a sweetened, older voice sighed._ "We're all done. It's time for you to rest now."_

I already was resting._ What the hell is she talking about?_

I felt the ground I was laying on begin to move as the lights got brighter, more yellow and further away. There was slamming, teetering, jolting, and rolling. The only thing I could think to do, or say, or plead for, was the girl that had been in my dreams. The one who carried the fog away.

"My wife--" I mumbled pleadingly up at the shadows, "I want my wife. _Roxanne_--"

And just like that, before I knew whether any of them had listened to my request, I was back in darkness again.

* * *

Circles. Millions of circles flew before my eyes.

The doctor was speaking to me, but there was no comprehension. He sounded as though he were speaking pig Latin, or French, or some other strange aborigine language that I would never understand. He said the word _'heart'_ two dozen times, and all I could think about was mine, shivering and breaking all alone. He talked about valves and damage and fragments of copper. He talked about respiration and anesthesia, and I felt as if I were fainting.

Then he said the word _'lucky'_, and I knew everything I needed to.

"…It may take him another hour or so to wake up, all depending on what his body will allow. But he's going to be perfectly alright, ma'am. It's about recovery and rest from here. He needs to take it easy. No more Wild West showdowns for a while."

I breathed a deep sigh of relief as the doctor placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and arm, lending me a tissue from his own coat pocket, same as the officer, and soothing me likewise.

"Am I allowed to go in and sit with him?"

"Oh, absolutely." He rubbed my back and led me down the hall further, toward Mort's room. "In fact, you were personally _requested_ between shots of morphine."

I wiped my eyes and looked at him with a humored smirk.

"Which in my experience…" He began as he leaned closer with a whisper as I glanced inside of the window to the darkened room, "…Only the best of wives ever are."

I smiled past the falling tears and quickly, without warning, flew into the older man's arms, hugging him for whatever doctors were worth nowadays, their price in gold and aspirin maybe? He held me the same, gentler, and with complete reassurance.

"Thank you," I mumbled into his white coat. "Thank you for saving him."

He patted my back as I relaxed down on the soles of my boots again and then just winked.

"I'm merely the medicine man. You're the one who saved him, truly."

And with a short twist and a squeeze of my hand out of continuing kindness, he was gone down the hall to tend to other weary wives and their unconscious, heroic husbands. My hand tingled on the cold steel doorknob, and I was hesitant, if only because I was used to being on the receiving end of hospital visits. I was usually in the bed, hooked to the wires, breathing for life's sake. This was new to me, not that I ever wanted to get used to it.

As I fell inside quietly to the blue haze of the early evening light from outside, I could hear him breathing weakly, I could hear the _**beeps**_ and the _**drips**_ all around him, and I could hear the beat of my own heart, pounding to run free of my frightened chest. There was a chair next to the bed, but I didn't sit. I couldn't sit. I couldn't relax now, not when my muscles were all buzzed and hopping off of nothing but previous coffee consumption and endless tears. I had to walk, I had to move and pace and let myself think, if only because that's what we writers do best anyway.

I dropped my coat and purse in the chair and then walked around to the large window of the room where there was a couch. I leaned over it to see down into the street below, at the wet, white ground, and the flashing of red emergency lights. I tapped my finger to the glass, cold as ice, and let the shiver run the course of my spine before I pulled back and walked around again.

There were so many things I wanted to do for him, say to him, and all I could do was to keep waiting. Wait to see if he wanted something to eat, something to drink, or do, or watch on the television. He looked so helpless when I passed by his bed, countless times. He looked like he was in peace certainly, with those heavy drugs no doubt, but he seemed lost in his dreams, his mind.

I wondered, standing at the end of the bed and watching his brow shift and twitch with sleep, what he was thinking about or seeing. I wondered if it was me, or Catalina, or something else entirely. I wondered then if anything happened between the two of them before I came back. I'm sure it could have, since she did have him tied up and restricted from resisting it. I could have asked him during all that time I wasted fighting him over the police, all that time I should have just been helping him get away, the one thing we did best together. But I didn't. I fought with him, right down to the last minute when the car wouldn't start. He was trying to fix it, get us out of there, and all I wanted was to stay and deal with the law. Well, I got my way, but he also got shot in the process of my catch 22 kind of day.

My hand lingered over where his foot was under the soft blanket, and I squeezed his toes lightly before moving right back into my solemn pace. In the duration of an hour and a half, I called my sister, explained everything that had happened to Jane and Todd, and talked to the kids with nothing but tears. Tears that they tried to ask me about with curiosity, and to which I brushed the subject off with questions about their day instead.

**"_Mommy, we got hats for New Year's."_**

"Did you?"

Maddie laughed and I could hear Max in the background with noisemakers.

**"_I picked a pink one for you. And a blue one for daddy."_**

I looked up at Mort, brushing a tear from my eye to see him just as out of it as before the phone call had started. It nearly killed me then.

"That's great, honey. Daddy and I are going to try our very best to make it before midnight, okay?"

It was a complete lie, but what could I do. No five year old needs to hear that the source of all their piggy back rides is in the hospital because he got shot.

_No thank you, I don't need that burden of toddler psyche on my already full plate. _

"I'll give daddy a New Year's kiss for you if we don't though. How's that?"

**"**_**Okay,"** _she chanted gladly, _**"And one for you, mommy."**_

I heard her blow the kiss from SoHo all the way to Rochester and held back the added waves of tears. I did the same in return, said all of my _'I love you's'_ and agreed to keep in touch through the rest of the night. Then I hung up the phone with Jane and slumped into the chair nearest to the bed, finally at a fair point of exhaustion.

I wasn't sitting with my eyes closed for more than thirty seconds, before I heard a rustle of the bed sheets next to me and a gruff, dry voice.

"Took you long enough."

My eyes shot open and back up to see Mort's, smiling in return, the way only his eyes can do, and I threw myself from the chair, lunging to his side. He chuckled at me, coughing just to breathe deeply again for the first time in six hours. I brushed the ever messy hair from his eyes and tried to touch every bit of him that I could, without hurting him.

"I'm so sorry," I mumbled with tears that fell on his nose.

I wiped them away as he argued, "Are you seriously," cough, "apologizing for this? What is it with you, woman?"

I couldn't help but to smile, to laugh and drowsily tuck my face into the crook of his neck, where I always knew it was beyond warm, and well beyond safe. He lay beneath me, tired and achy for a lasting moment, before I eventually felt his arm, draped with wires and needles and medicinal sustenance, come around and rub at my back gently.

* * *

She really was something else.

_Apologizing, to ME_. _The guy who brought all of this on in the first place. Jesus…_

Every one of her tears that fell on my face and neck was like a typhoon of them. Watching her cry was the most painful thing there ever was for me. More painful than bullets, or baseball bats or handcuffs and tape. She tucked her face into my neck, half leaning toward me on the bed, and all I could do was remind her that I was still there, that it wasn't a dream, that she was really feeling me. I softly caressed her back, wishing I could just leave this bed and go home. Go home and lay with her under a half dozen blankets in the freezing cold for the rest of the night.

"I know how you feel all the time now," she cried into my cheek, kissing me, hugging my neck as best she could. "And I hate it. I hate it _so much_, Mort. How do you do this?"

I smiled weakly, knowing full well what she meant. She pulled away enough for me to see her eyes flickering in the grey light of the room. They were like two runway sparks on an isolated landing strip, like two candles in the middle of a dark house, or two headlights on the most dizzying road one could ever imagine being stuck on.

I stroked the tears from her cheeks.

"It's easy. I walk around in circles thinking about you until you wake up again."

A small grin came to her mouth as she relaxed back into the chair and came as close as I could possibly beg of her. I was freezing but every bit of her warmed me instantly.

"Do you want anything? Are you thirsty?"

I nodded with tired eyes and watched as she reached to pour a cup of water for me, never letting go of my hand. I could see the bandages over my heart from underneath of the gown they had me in, and I wondered how deep it went, where it went, and how closely it hit my heart. I'm sure it wasn't as close as it felt every time I saw her dripping green eyes.

She brought a straw down to meet my parched lips and our eyes never left one another's as I sipped and she cried. The more hydrated I became, the more I took notice of the little scars on her skin in this light, the ones that were still forever healing from all she'd been through before me. They suited her, although I wished they didn't have to be there.

"More?"

I shook my head 'no' and relaxed back on the pillow again, staring up at the ceiling of the room, fighting the urge to keep from staring at her pain stricken eyes. That would kill me faster than any shrapnel through the heart.

"Sweetie, do you want me to get you anything? Food? Are you hungry?"

_Oh the possibilities of answering that, _I thought wildly. _Where do I begin with her?_

I turned my hungry eyes back down to see hers clearing up.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

She knew why and it made me laugh when she rolled her eyes and turned her face away, childishly, before eventually just bringing it right back again. We endured another round of our never-ending staring contest through life, until I broke it with what was really on my mind, the only thing I couldn't get off of it in fact.

"What happened to that bitch?"

Roxanne's eyes went wider, suddenly realizing the force of my interest, the anger that went with it. I could see gratefulness mixed with shock all over her face.

"Did they arrest her?"

"No," she whispered softly, wiping her nose.

"Figures. Fucking New York cops don't--"

"No, Mort." She stopped my potential rant with a hand on my stomach, caressing lightly. "Catalina, she--" there was a pause, the kind that comes with morbid news only. I was more than prepared, to be quite honest. "She's gone."

I held her eyes furtively, knowing the sound of what I heard in her voice. It was that grotesque tone I've only heard once before in my whole life, from anyone. On the day she had first explained to me how she killed Ethan and his lover, Lindsey.

"You did it, didn't you?"

I was more than happy to hear the truth either way, but had to admit, that hearing her say she was the one to take Catalina out of the world, to take that threat as far from here as possible, would be what made me the happiest man alive.

"It's terrible, I know I just--"

"Sh." I cut her off with a hand to her cheek, brushing back her falling curls. "Roxanne, don't even think about analyzing all of this. And if you already started, then stop. You hear me?"

She gulped with a nod.

"Good. Thank you."

There was silence then, because I knew she was already going back to her thoughts, back to the place where she would sit questioning the entire situation until she was crazily tied to a wall in an institution. She was always good at beating herself up about stuff, especially difficult choices.

"Stop. I'm begging you."

"Mort, I shouldn't have done it. She didn't have any bullets left. It wasn't a fair--"

"Please," I grabbed her hand to bring her back close to me, kissing her warm knuckles. "For me. Stop. It's done with. Let it rest."

More silence, prevailing, hapless silence. The kind that comes when it's all nerves and contemplation in the air. The kind I absolutely hate. I had to break it again.

"Baby?"

She moved her eyes to mine, resting her chin down on my hand, free of needles.

"Yeah?"

"I think I know what I want now."

"Food?"

I just smiled with a twisted eye and nodded.

* * *

_Food, right…I should have known better. _

I hit the simultaneous 6 and 7 buttons on the vending machine and watched as the bag of cheese flavored demons fell down to where a half dozen others were already waiting to be grabbed. His doctor was going to be overjoyed at this one, I was sure of it. I laughed to myself though, punching buttons on a handful of different machines, namely the ones that housed all his favorites, while the television screen overhead blasted with last minute New Year's celebrations in Times Square. The kids were blocks away from all that insanity, and it made me happy to know they'd get to enjoy themselves even without us there.

With my arms full of sugary, fructose induced crap I headed back to Mort's room and came inside just as the nurse was finishing his vitals. She was an older lady, sweet, with an accent as flavored as New Orleans jazz and Cajun food.

"Looks like your wife is takin' mighty good care o' you, Mister Rainey."

He turned his head with a laugh as I stumbled toward the bed and dropped everything I had, bags of Doritos, cans of Mountain Dew and plenty of other things he didn't need.

"I'm a lucky guy," he smirked back at her as she tugged the blood pressure cuff from his arm and snuck out of the room with a laughing sigh or two. I turned to see the TV with the same New Year's happenings as in the waiting room, then felt a tug on my hand as Mort pulled me toward him. "Come here, lay with me."

"Yeah right. They have you wired like a computer."

He shook his head and grunted with a tug of my weight onto the mattress beside him.

"Mort."

"You asked me what I wanted."

I sighed then, giving in as usual, and found a comfortable niche tucked into his arms. For all of five seconds anyway. He immediately growled with a pinch of pain somewhere.

"What? What did I pull out?"

"_Oh God_," he threw his head back on the pillow, writhing and jolting on purpose, "I think you pulled my life support out. Oh baby, how could _you_--?"

And then he tilted his face to the side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and eyes rolled back in his head like in the old cartoons. The only thing he was missing was a pair of black X's over both of his eyelids. I leaned over, resting against the right, un-bandaged side of his chest, smiling with warm breath on his neck until he gave in and looked back.

With a crooked, half open eye, he whispered, "Is this heaven?"

"No. It's hell. Welcome. You made it," I teased with a tap on his chin.

"No," he sighed, turning over to get comfortable with me in his arms again, my face hidden at the crook of his neck where I always seemed to belong. "It can't be hell." He tossed the blankets over my legs and wrapped me up tight with him. Bags of chips and freezing cans of soda rolled between us as he whispered, "Because I see an angel, right _here_."

And then, just as the shouting, counting citizens of New York City began to chant, Mort kissed every single inch of my face he could find under hospitals blankets and tangled curls, eventually stopping in a hover right over my mouth.

"Did you ever know that I'm your biggest fan, Mrs. Rainey?"

I grinned under him, catching the intentional irony of his morbid words, and nodded.

"Funny. I just so happen to be your biggest fan too, Mr. Rainey."

Then, just like in all those perfectly predictable love stories, the ball dropped over Times' Square, snow began to fall outside of the window to his hospital room, and he kissed me like there was nowhere else to be in the world, except right there, forever and always.

We snacked on Doritos and shared Mountain Dew from the same straw for the rest of the night. We talked about things that had nothing to do with what we'd endured all morning and afternoon, and found we couldn't stop talking, like usual. We argued over names and a preference for a boy or girl in our third go round as parents. We kissed and laughed and repeated every necessary line to late night Seinfeld re-runs.

And I couldn't help but to think to myself, as we drifted off to sleep together in that tiny bed, how everything had seemed to come completely back around. There was no more upside down or sideways. No more confusion or uncertainty. There was just me and him. And nothing and no one could truly come between that.

Never ever.


	27. Epilogue: It's a Love Thing

**Epilogue: It's a Love Thing**

**

* * *

**

**Mills River, North Carolina**

**13 months later**** – ****February 10th**

* * *

It was still cold outside, but had warmed enough to enjoy a walk. That's all I asked for.

Madeline held a brisk stumble behind me as we strolled down the mountainside. She would reach up and try to snatch at the bare toes dangling out of the sling across my chest. Questions came continuously, about things I had no clue to answer with her childish curiosity about babies and where they came from and why her new little brother had never arrived gift wrapped.

"Why didn't God put a bow on his head, Mommy?"

I rolled my eyes up to the snowy sky and reached behind me for her to take my hand. When her tiny fingers were tangled snuggly in mine, I slowed my pace as we moved around the last curve at the bottom of the hill, heading for the mailboxes and the horse farm she adored.

"I think it's because God thought Little Benny was cuter without one, Bug."

Madeline's brow crossed when I looked down at her, but then she nodded.

"Okay."

There was only a short stint of silence as I moved my eyes from her, down to the giggly, smiling face hidden deep in the warmth of the sling, and then back to my daughter's between the wool brim of her snowcap and scarf.

"But wait, Daddy said he came from the _'Sheet Monster'_."

I choked on my iced breath as I wavered a moment in the middle of the empty back road.

"He _what_, honey?"

Maddie smiled up at me proudly, explaining herself. "He said that there's a monster in your bed. He said it made Ben and then it gave him to you for a present."

"Oh did he…?"

"Yep. And Daddy said that you fight the monster every night. Is that true, Mommy? You fight a monster?"

I was trying not to laugh, not to growl, and not to run right back up the mountain with a five-month old attached to my chest and a wide eyed 6-year old dangling off my arm, to go and slay the man who was to blame for both of them. Luckily, Madeline was too fascinated with the horses' noses poking through the fence at the right side of the road, to continue the conversation.

_The Sheet Monster, _I shook my head and opened our mailbox nearby where she petted the giant neighing beasts. _We'll just see if the monster gets to come out of its cage tonight--_

I held onto my little Benjamin, the one I always dreamed of, as I pulled the stack of bills and advertisements and letters from the mailbox. He stared up at me with a toothless grin, raising his chubby arm out into the midday light and February cold, reaching for my face as I nibbled on his fingers and scanned the names on envelopes. His eyes were undeniably Mort's, his smile, according to the Sheet Monster himself, was mine. And somehow unexplainably, Benjamin managed to hold the scent of both cinnamon and strawberries, so often that it scared the both of us into un-comprehendible laughter.

"Mommy, I need a carrot for Shadow!"

I glanced up from the letters to see Maddie running towards me, then tugging at the back pocket of my jeans for the bag of carrot sticks.

"Be careful of your hands, sweetie."

"I will," she giggled and ran back to the fence while I occupied myself on a small, melting bank of snow to the side of the road, with a baby and plenty of mail. It wasn't until I saw a well travelled, well deserving letter poking out from under the water and electric bills, that I grew curious myself. I lifted it and read the scratched lettering beside the numerous stamps.

_**Michel Roux**_

There was no return address because he didn't have one to give.

I smiled knowingly, since I'd been waiting for one of his letters. I wrote to him just the same, all the time, but always sent the letters to the address of his studio in Naples, where he often dropped in on occasion from travelling. He must have been off venturing, to have left the address blank this time. I smiled wider as I shuffled with Ben and the other mail to rip open the envelope and pull the folded paper from within.

I'd kept in touch with Roux in countless letters and with endless words over the last year or so. He was always telling me about the places he visited, the incredible people he met, the exotic wines he tasted or the art he'd seen that reminded him of me. He wished me well consistently, inquired about the family and the romance he knew had been rediscovered in my life. He was like a long lost brother or distant care taker, a friend for a lifetime.

I stood on the wet ground, stroking through Benjamin's soft brown curls and dancing around to keep warm as Maddie laughed and brushed the horses' faces at her short level near the fence. The letter and his ancient looking, scroll writing, took me back quickly, to his scent and his soft touch and the way he taught me how to love again without needing for me to actually love _him_.

_**My Roxanne,**_

_**I'm standing on the starting steps of the Great Wall of China, believe it or not. I felt a surge and I had to write to you. I can picture you here, with two small twins running at your ankles and that little one strapped on your back, hiking as one. I can see you so clearly here, in this foreign land, in this cultural breeze, that it makes me want to wretch and cry. **_

_**The pictures you sent of the late winter Appalachian snow were beautiful and they fed me inspiration for almost a full week as I painted. It's cold here too, but it's a bitter and emotional cold, it's good for only relinquishing bad memories to the wind. Not like the memories of you. Those ones belong in a warm summer cross draft off the Pacific Coast, where they can consistently return to me anytime I please. **_

_**I've been on this boat for almost a year, barely making one port meet the next before I sail away again. But it feels so good. It's never felt this good before. It could be partly due to my having come across something on the streets of Paris only a month ago. You're always telling me in these letters to get out and find that match for myself, the one you 'know I need to realize I deserve'. Well my dear, I think I found her. **_

_**She's an American girl, if you can believe that much of this letter at least, a girl right from your neck of the earthly woods; a dead-end town in Tennessee as she tells it. I'm sure you know as little of it as I ever did. Needless to say, Izzie's a singer, a darling little crooner, and she somehow stumbled from out of nowhere and changed everything. **_

_**What do you think it is about Paris that can make that sort of thing possible?** _

I thought about all of it thus far, tried to process the idea of Roux, _my Roux_, off romancing and finding adventure with some other woman, one he loved and would love long after the letter. I wasn't jealous. I was beside myself with joy in fact. It's all I'd ever begged of him. It was all I ever wanted and I smiled as I hauled Madeline and Benjamin back up the road for home, reading casually.

_**Tell me in your next letter, Roxy Love. I want to hear from you the second you put that fresh bundle of joy down for a much needed nap. I want you to write to me about all of the fine things you have there on your dreamy mountainside in the middle of the universe. **_

_**Know I'm thinking about you from point A to point B. Know I love your words and your memories and your glorious perfection in this world. I'm sending a pat on the back to that lucky baby maker of yours, and kisses to as many of the little ones as you can find. **_

_**I'm also sending imaginary guitar tunes for you to listen to, beautifully, as always. **_

_**Love enduring, Roux**_

I sighed then, my eyes sparkling with pure happiness as I walked and glanced down into the sling at the yawning face of the baby. There was so much about that gypsy man that had so simply saved my own life, my own heart and spirit that I could never deny him for a second of the time he was worth in letters. I knew I would go home and write to him, then tell Mort about it, and then I'd wait until the next string of stamps arrived and told of his continuing venture. I was hooked on the freedom he had across the miles that I couldn't travel myself. But I always realized that I was no less free for it, I was just free here, in the arms of the man I really loved and at the curiosity of my children. Free in my own interesting sort of way.

It's Valentine's Day, and at the top of the mountain, is a man who holds all the freedom and adventure and fun I could ever really ask for. He's Chef Boyardee and a SpongeBob impersonator and the Sheet Monster most days of the week. But today, and most every night we can find capable of it, he's the oddball lover I found in the woods.

And I can't wait to get back to our little castle in the sky and remind him of it, _thoroughly_.

**

* * *

**

**Another 8 Months later – ****April 8th**

* * *

It was an ordinary day, as it ought to have been.

Mort's parents had come to town a few days before and were spoiling their grandkids left and right, never giving us a single chance to cook or clean or take care of them. They were doing it all, forcing Mort and I to rest, and actually sleep in. We took advantage of it, of course, did some major writing in our office together on a screenplay we were attempting to develop, a new turn in the field of words and plot for us. But on this day for some reason, while I barreled through a few chapters on my new book, music and the sound of the moving laptop keys carrying me away, Mort was nowhere to be seen or heard from. He'd gone off an hour before to 'make a sandwich' and had never returned. It wasn't something I could concern myself with really, it just seemed odd as I skirted around the end of the last paragraph to another chapter for the day. I was almost there in fact, finished, completed, when I heard the door of the office creaking open behind me.

"Honey?"

His voice was like _honey_, smooth and rich, sweetened to perfection, tempting. I raised my hand over my head and waved a single finger for him to see my desperate position. He stood behind my chair, idly breathing and stroking the loose curls on my neck as I concluded typing, stressing the last sentence of the paragraph to a close.

When I saved the document and shut the computer screen, he sighed in relief.

"Done?"

I turned in the chair and looked up at him, "Done. Where have you been?"

"Working on something."

I eyed him curiously as he pulled me up to stand at his level, my chin resting against his chest.

"Wanna see?"

"Of course. Where is it?"

He smirked from the corner of his mouth, grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the office and downstairs to the first floor again. His mother was in the kitchen baking cookies with Maddie, while his dad held Ben in the recliner and watched the White Sox game with Max.

"How are we doing, Max-a Million?" Mort shouted as he tugged me to the front door.

Max stood up on the couch and cheered with a jump, "Winning! Winning!"

"That-a boy! Be good for Pop, and Maddie," he turned his face back to the kitchen as I threw on my shoes. "Be a good helper for Gram. I'm taking Mommy for a walk."

"Okay," she smiled as he led me into the breezy late afternoon of early summer.

And we walked, just as promised, hand in hand, me tagging behind in the gust of his anxiousness, laughing as we moved up the road, higher up the mountain. We were the last house at the top, so I knew from here it could only mean isolation and seclusion, wherever he was taking me.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"No," he chided with an extra tug of my hand, "You know me better than that."

I sighed and continued to follow, watching as the sun just barely started to turn over into the preempt of a sunset. The sky began to fade slowly into oranges and pinks, with a distant sea of blue and purple on the valley of the southern foothills. And there we were, struggling to reach the top of the world, breathing in exhaustion by the time Mort finally slowed his pace and turned around to stop me in the middle of the empty road. He smiled down at me like a kid in a candy store, and gently eased something from the back pocket of his jeans.

"Come here," he whispered, spinning me around to lean against him, eyes turned away. He covered my view of the downside to the mountain lane with an old bandana, a blindfold, something I couldn't possibly have been less fond of from previous experience.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Really," he murmured with a lingering peck on the curve of my neck. "_Really, really_…"

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's right around the corner. Here," he took both of my hands in his, moving me back in the direction I had been previously, and walking me slowly, blindly, upwards.

I counted the steps it took until he stopped me again, where my shoes hit the crunch of soil and woodland grasses and mountain pebbles. There were 48 perfectly balanced, perfectly sublime steps of darkness and beauty and scent and giggling laughter to get to where he wanted me. Mort held me gently for a moment, before placing me in a more precise spot, and leaving me motionless as he rustled with things I couldn't necessarily determine. There were what felt like high grasses surrounding my body, almost like stalks of corn or something similar, but I couldn't figure it out and didn't particularly want to, not until he was ready to reveal it all.

I heard what sounded like clinking glass, boot steps on a softer patch of ground, and then there was a simple beat, a tangy sort of memory through music. It was song I knew, among the millions that I had categorized as _Roxy Love_ or Roxanne or whoever I could be. And while I stood humming the opening to the tune, I felt his hands return, touching my waist gently as he breathed deeply into the crook of my neck.

"You ready, _Sunshine_?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Mort."

He sighed with a laugh and slowly untied the sash over my eyes, tugging it away as I readjusted to the natural brightness of the world around me. Imagine for a moment if you will, the most improbably ideal turn of events, the most transcendent ending to an already overfilled circle in life. Then double that, add a man who forever tries when he doesn't need to, an inviting spot on a warm mountain valley in North Carolina, and that's what I was standing upon.

The curious boundaries of grass I was sure I was surrounded by, weren't even close to what I pictured, they were altogether too sunny and yellow and glorious for that. Their petals were soft and sweet smelling and they were even taller than me in most cases. On the dusty ground beneath me, was a blanket, an old blanket, strewn with a tired old radio and a bottle of white wine, nothing more and nothing less. And then there were the arms that held onto me, the fingers that had already begun to work the buttons of my shirt long before I'd even let myself fall to crying. Those teasing hands were the best part of it all.

"What do you think?" He hummed on my cheek from behind, as he slowly pulled my shirt from my shoulders, kissing them lightly in the warming sun. "Did I do okay?"

I giggled and brushed back a few tears as I turned in his arms.

"Don't ask stupid questions."

Mort laughed and tugged at the button of my jeans, leaning down to nibble at the skin spilling from my revealed bra. I moaned into an arch against him, holding his neck and shoulders for support to keep from falling weakly to the ground. I heard the zipper from my jeans and breathlessly cheered him on as he managed to pull them down from my hips, carrying me to the blanket in one sweeping movement. His kisses were spontaneous and unplanned and monumental as they matched the curve of my stomach, his hands working to discard my jeans and shoes in one fluid movement the whole time.

And I laid there in pink lace beneath him as he hovered over me, staring down with the most utterly wild hazelnut in his eyes, singing quietly to REO Speedwagon. I shook my head and softly hissed up at him as he crawled from the ground to stand over me, rather. His hands went to his shirt, pulling it from over his head and knocking off his glasses.

"You planned this well."

I smirked at the lyrics and the smooth glow of his chest and stomach dancing in the sunlight.

"I had to make it up to you."

Mort let his shirt dangle loosely in his hand, testing me, teasing me with the song's beat.

"Are you going to dance for me, Mr. Rainey?"

He laughed and began to twirl the cotton shirt around, his hips swaying as he belted out, "'Cause it was us baby, way before then…and we're still together…"

I crawled to my knees, whispering up at him, "And I meant every word I said," as I reached the belt of his jeans, unhooking it and tugging him closer to the blanket again. He stood in my grasp, following with: "When I said that I loved you…I meant, that I loved you _forever_…"

"Did you?"

He nodded as I ripped the belt off and unfastened the button of his jeans, pulling until he fell back down on top of me in the grass and bottomless sunflower haven. The tightness of cinching denim at the center of my pleading thighs was nearly too much to bear in the summer heat, but my fingertips gained a fair enough hold on his shoulder blades, where I could cling to him for safety, the safety I felt I needed. I wasn't sure I'd be able to control the situation for long, not as well as he seemed to be doing.

"I screwed this up the last time. I wasted all those sunflowers."

"No sweetie," I tried to assure him, my hands holding his face down to my lips. "It was nothing."

"Yeah, _right_…" a soft sigh came as he kissed me lightly, hovering in the sunlight like a God. "It was perfect and I knew I had to do something to fix it. So I planted all of these for you."

I laughed, "Is this where you've been sneaking off to?"

He nodded and held my laced bottom towards his pleading midsection, rougher.

"I've dreamed about doing this here all year, since we left Italy."

I could feel tears welling up inside of me, because I'd underestimated him again, as I always managed to do. There was very little he couldn't think up or concoct in terms of romance, and I just needed to learn to accept that about my husband.

"Is this your new scheme to get me pregnant again, because if it is I'm not going to--?"

He stopped me, hushed me, and silenced my indifference to the situation. His tongue rammed through by parted lips like a shot in the night, or in the middle of the brilliantly sunny day for that matter. His hands were harsh but content to soothe and vex across my entire body, tearing at bra hooks and lace unmentionables until I was as bared to the world as when I had arrived 32 years before. Mort planted wild, reclusive kisses on my neck, following the plain of my chest and the valley between, around, and across both of my awakened, spirited breasts. When one was lost in the heated cavern of his seductively entrancing mouth, the other was fondled by his spindle-like fingertips.

I begged for him, pleaded with the purple skies high above me that it would never end, at least not until I was ravished enough to accept anymore. And I knew that would never happen. He was too good at what he did to me, too practiced and analytical in the process to be any less than entirely and substantially unchallenged, flawless and faultless.

"I want to see you in this light," he finally mumbled at the peak of my breast, lifting me up and turning me over until it was him resting in the gentle soil and quilt fabric, and it was me straddling him like a fairy in the middle of a magical field. I felt no different in that moment.

Mort just grinned hopelessly up at me, letting his hands wander over my exposed stomach and thighs and breasts under the light of the falling sun. I arched at the touch and let my hair fall down damp and loose across my entire back, moaning out with softly fluttering eyes to clouds.

"Like a work of art," I heard him whisper from the ground, gripping my bare thighs to rock me against the still protruding, desperate rock beneath me and the denim. I challenged his control all the more by moving in circles across his lap, bringing my hands down to rest in a scratching, aching tremble over his hardened pecks, and he groaned with me, throwing his head to the blanket again, "…_Good God, woman_…"

The song on the stereo's mixed CD changed over to something entirely too appropriate, and I glanced down at him with a roll of my eyes and a smirk.

"You would."

He was gasping for air as I worked to pull down his jeans and reveal only the high rising cotton of his boxers under the day's light and the sunflower canopy. I did this as seductively as possible, playing off of the beat of the coming lyrics, ready to sing the moment I slid his boxers from him the same.

"I believe in miracles…"

"Do you?" He teased.

I winked, "Where you from, _you sexy thing_?"

"Chicago," he chided as I crawled back to his completely exposed form and gripped my thighs tight around his lap. "Show me how your dream goes," I whispered into his ear, leveling myself on his lap, toes digging into the warm soil and nails into his heated skin.

One of his hands left my hip to reach down and stroke the firm ache of his cock where it tapped lightly against the moistness of my center. He sat up then, holding me to him and somehow managed to lift me enough so that I barely rode the surface of his prematurely dripping head. I held onto his shoulders, fingers twisting with his messy hair at the curve and my eyes matching his for every stroke of passion and desire longing inside of them.

"Was I on top in your dream?"

"You were on top, like an angel in the sky."

I giggled and ran my hands through his hair and down his sweating back.

"Was it slow or _brutal_?

I could tell my mocking was only making him harder at the seams beneath me. Mort squeezed my hips tougher, gently easing inside of my readied centerfold, to the heat he required.

"You decide," he finally hummed on my lips as I fell down quickly to entirely consume him, gripping his shoulders for sustenance, crying out his name with the sudden drop in longitude. He held me like he'd never held me before, as if he were meeting me for the very first time, or rescuing me for the very first time, or making love to me on an entirely fresh plane. It wasn't the case, it would never be the case, but the way that my hips rode his, and the way the dew from his chest melted my rigidly peaking breasts with comfort, it was how I always wanted it to stay.

So it wasn't an Italian field of sunflowers overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. So it wasn't some romantic getaway to a far off land. So we weren't too crazy kids in the woods, out to spend a summer wrapped up in insanity and fresh lake water.

_So what…_

This man has tested a lot of limits for me and me the same for him. He is consistently trying to justify life by creating more and more of it within me and all around us. He's protected me from the very beginning and never let me fall without a hand to catch my head since. So we waver, we tumble and fall and make mistakes and regret things. Okay, that's human, that's righteous. And yeah we both had to nearly lose one another to separate parties to realize that fate was already decided a long time ago. But that's just the way it goes in some stories.

Perfect endings can only be achieved when the middle fluctuates fairly between despair and uncertainty, loss and pain, wishful thinking and knowing chances.

And trust me when I say, we have plenty of that to go around in our little _love thing_.


End file.
